Where There's A Will
by Ashley5627
Summary: When cops come to his door one day and take his father away, Neal finally gets the chance to run away from an abusive father and place he hadn't considered his home for three years. He ends up in New York, but now that he's in the big city, what does he do? Teen!Neal story. Neal!Whump.
1. Stolen Innocence

**It took me four days and a lot of thinking, but I figured out which story I wanted to post! A teen Neal story - we don't have enough of them!**

 **In this AU, Neal's father got fired from the police force and never killed someone. Neal never went into WITSEC and Ellen was never in the picture. In this story, Neal is sixteen and, for the sake of making more sense, Neal's father is about forty-five. Everyone else is their cannon ages.**

 **The title of the story is based off of an episode name from the show. It has nothing to do with this story except that they have the same name.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar, (Duh).**

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Neal made his way down the street, looking for an easy mark for his sticky fingers. He had done this hundreds of times so he was confident that he could make a few bucks when he found someone that didn't need the money as much as he did.

He didn't do it for the thrill, not really, he did it so he could pay the rent and buy food and beer for his dad. He internally shuddered at the memory of the last time the fridge was out of beer. Neal had passed out on the floor that night and didn't wake up until the next day.

Pickpocketing was the quickest way to earn some money, but Neal also dabbled in other less-than-legal things to pay the bills, like counterfeiting art, bonds and checks. Hustling pool can bring in some good money as well, but if he did that too often people would start to notice. He also knows how to pick locks and break into safes, two things that had helped him earn some extra money in the past.

Finally Neal found a man in a suit talking on his phone, not paying attention to anything but his conversation. He looked like he could loose a few bucks and be fine.

Neal could see the bulge of the mans wallet in his pants pocket. Piece of cake. He made his way toward the man and bumped into him, grabbing the wallet and pocketing it while apologizing for his clumsiness. The man was more concerned about his phone conversation than a clumsy kid to pay any attention to what Neal stole.

He ducked into a nearby alley to take a look at his winnings. fifty bucks, not bad. That would be enough for food and beer for a week or so, if he spent carefully and his father didn't get ahold of it.

He left the alley and dropped the wallet by a bench where someone would find it. As there was no money in it, the person that found it would probably give it to the authorities and it'd make its way back to its owner.

On his way home, Neal stopped at the convenience store to buy beer and milk. There was enough beer at home to last a few days, but it's always better to be safe then sorry.

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Neal opened the door to his apartment a little warily and was happy to see that his father wasn't there. It was always easier when he wasn't around.

He went into the small kitchen and put the beer and milk away in the fridge. He had no clue where his father was or when he'd be back, so he just went to his room to catch up on his late homework. School hadn't been his first concern for quite some time, but if he dropped out or flunked, people would notice.

He was half way done with his English essay when he heard the front door to the apartment open and close. He had trained his ears long ago to listen for that sound. He immediately stiffened and prayed his father would just leave him alone for a while.

"Neal, get out here," he heard his father yell. He definitely didn't sound happy. So much for that.

Neal didn't know what he wanted, but knew it would be even worse for him if he didn't come when he was called.

Neal left the relative safety of his room to face his father. He was standing in the living room in front of the crappy, stain-covered couch. He did not look happy - he never really did.

"Yes, sir?" Neal asked. His father never liked him to call him 'Dad' or 'Father' or even 'James', at least since Neal's mother died. That's when it all seemed to go downhill.

It was on Neal's thirteenth birthday, him and his mother were on their way to the store to buy him a cake. It was a real treat for him because they couldn't really afford things like that, but his mom insisted every year and he cherished the cake every year.

They didn't live in a very nice neighborhood, never did, so it wasn't too much of a surprise when someone stepped out of an alley and told them to give them their money. He had a gun and his mother did as he asked without hesitation.

Neal never knew why the guy pulled the trigger - it could have been fear or adrenaline or he planned on doing it from the beginning, the only thing he knew was that his mother died in his arms on his birthday on the way to get a cake that was just for him.

His father always blamed him for his mothers death, and once even told him he didn't want to be called Dad because he didn't like to be reminded of the fact that they were related.

He also blamed Neal for loosing his job as a cop. It wasn't Neal's fault, but when that's all you hear about it, after a while it seemed more like the truth than what you've been telling yourself.

His father was never physical with him until his mother died. God, how Neal missed her.

"How much money did you get today?" James asked, bringing Neal back from his dark thoughts. He usually took the money that was supposed to be for rent and food to waste it on the slots or ponies.

"Um, I got fifty, but I spent ten on milk and beer, sir," Neal said.

"That's it?" his father asked, very angry now. Neal nodded shakily. "You worthless piece of shit!" He took a threatening step forward and Neal couldn't help but take one back. Any little thing would set his father off, so he wasn't surprised by his anger. But that didn't mean that he wasn't terrified of it.

"I-I'll get some more if you want me to," Neal said. He knew he was in trouble now.

"Oh, so you think you can just go out and make things all better?" James asked. He took another step forward, then another and soon he was right in Neal space.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry," Neal said, but it was too late. His father wouldn't just let it go and Neal knew it.

James grabbed Neal's shirt and threw him into the old TV in front of the couch. The screen shattered and Neal fell onto the floor on top of the shards of glass. He could feel some of them embed themselves into his back and flank. He knew he was going to have to pay for a new one somehow.

"Dammit! Look what you made me do!" James said and kicked Neal in the stomach, then he did again, and again. Neal knew if he curled up as much as he could, he'd be able to protect his head and abdomen pretty well, so he did so. Of course that only worked if his father just kept kicking him.

He grabbed the front of Neal's shirt and hauled him up into a sitting position. He brought his fist back and Neal tensed, preparing for the hit, but a pounding on the front door stopped James.

"Police, open up!" someone called from the other side. Both men just looked at the door for few seconds, then James turned back to his son.

"Don't say a word," he warned in a threatening tone. Neal nodded - he hadn't been planning on it anyway.

James went to the door and opened it up, revealing two police officers. They couldn't see Neal from where he was, but he could see their lower body.

"My name's officer McNab, this is officer Bradshaw. We're looking for James Bennett. Are you him?"

"Yes," James said warily.

"You're going to have to come with us," he said and Neal could hear the jangle of handcuffs.

"On what grounds?" James demanded.

"You're under arrest for illegal gambling," Bradshaw said.

James looked back to where Neal was still laying, then back to the officers.

"This doesn't have to be hard if you don't want it to be," McNab said.

Neal knew his father wasn't a runner and there wasn't any easy way out of the apartment besides the front door, which the officers were blocking. Neal's father may be a deadbeat, angry drunk, but he he was smart enough to know when he couldn't escape.

James reluctantly held out his hands and McNab cuffed them. The three men left and Neal was left alone in the apartment.

It wasn't the first time his father was suspected of something, but Neal knew his father wouldn't get out of jail this time. His father was too sloppy when it came to his recent illegal activities.

His father was going to jail. He really didn't know how to feel about that.

His entire life, his only other loyalty besides to his mother was to his father, as twisted and as forced as it was, no matter how bad it got. Now that he's gone, what should he do?

Was there really a point to stay here anymore? He had thought about running many, _many_ times, but he was always afraid of what his father would do to him if he ever found him. The fear always kept him here, but now it was gone, his father was gone. Does that mean he should leave, too?

There was nothing here for him and nothing holding him back.

Neal picked himself up off the floor and tried to wipe off the glass that was stuck to his clothes. He could feel that there were shards in his back and side, so he went into the bathroom and slowly, painfully took off his shirt.

The new bruises he just acquired were still red, but the older ones he got a few days ago for being ten minutes late home were a dark purple that spread over his built abdomen and across his smooth back.

He turned around and winced at what he saw. There were small cuts all over his back and down to his right flank, and most still had glass in them. The cuts were bleeding sluggishly down his skin in little red lines. He studiously ignored the scars that were also there.

It took a while, but Neal managed to get most of the glass out. It was a slow and painful process to twist his body around that far, but he knew he had to get as much glass out as he could.

After cleaning himself up, he went into his small bedroom and got a dark blue t-shirt from his closet and put it on. He grabbed his backpack from his bed and took out his school supplies - he wouldn't need it anymore - and stuffed it with some clothes, a few of his favorite books, a sketchbook, colored pencils and a picture of him and his mother on his birthday. In the picture he was blowing out twelve candles on a cake and his mother was right behind him, a proud smile on her face. It was one of the only pictures he had of her. He never wanted to forget her or her smile, so he put it in his backpack and zipped it up.

That place wasn't his home for three years, so he didn't even look back when he walked out the door for the last time. He left St. Louis and his old life behind him and never looked back.

Neal didn't want to associate himself with his father anymore, so he decided to take his mothers maiden name instead of his fathers last name. He was no longer Neal Bennett, from now on, he was Neal Caffrey.

He traveled over nine-hundred miles on seven different buses and he ended up in New York City. He hoped the physical distance from his old life would help him get away from it.

 **Well, there's the first chapter! I've been working on this story for some time, so I have about seven-thousand words so far. I'll post another chapter tomorrow or the next day. It all depends on how much you guys make to smile, and I think you all know how to do that! ;-)**


	2. Street Urchin

**This is a response to marJan 53's question: Neal lived in a bad neighborhood and people there don't interfere with other people's business. That's why no one bothered calling the cops. And Neal had taken care of himself, and his father, for three years and he was independent. He was also wary of others because of his father. I understand why you may not have known that. I would have PM'd you this, but you don't have an account.**

 **Wow, guys! 24 reviews! You guys really do know how to make me smile! Here's the next chapter, as promised.**

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Peter was on his way home from a long day at work when Elizabeth texted him. She wanted him to get potatoes from the store on his way home, so he made a slight detour to the small grocery store he frequented. He just closed up a huge case and the paperwork was terrible, so it was dark by the time he left the office.

There wasn't a parking spot anywhere near the front of the store, so he ended up parking on the other side of the block.

The moment he stepped out of his car he could feel the harsh wind bite into his skin and he was thankful that Elizabeth reminded him to wear his heavy coat that morning. He didn't know what he'd do without her.

He knew there was an alley that he could take to cut his trek in half, so he headed that way. He didn't really like the idea of going down a dark alley, but he was an FBI agent for Christ's sake - he could take care of himself if it came down to it.

He was half way down the alley when he saw a small figure ahead of him, curled up on the ground next to a dumpster. That was surprising to see as this was a relatively nice neighborhood, but there were homeless people everywhere, Peter supposed, as sad as that was.

Peter started quietly going around the man when he saw the the man was, in fact, just a kid, and he stopped.

He couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen and the thin, worn coat he had on was not cut out for the cold October weather. He looked so innocent and young sleeping there and it broke Peter's heart.

Peter knew there were people out there that didn't have a place to call their home, but to see it in person, especially a child, made Peter bone-deep sorrowful and enraged at the same time.

The kid must have sensed Peter's presence because he suddenly stirred and opened his eyes, and in the glow of the light above them, Peter could immediately see they were the most mesmerizing and vibrant blue eyes he'd ever seen besides his wife's.

At first there was just confusion in those beautiful irises, then he looked up to see a large man looming over him and his eyes widened in fear as he startled back. He looked around frantically for an escape, but couldn't find one. Realizing he was trapped, the kid put a hand up as if to plead for Peter not to hurt him.

"Please, don't," the kid whimpered, his blue eyes wide and fearful.

Peter didn't know what the kid thought he might do to him, and he really didn't want to think too hard about that, but he put his hands up as well and backed up.

"Hey, I'm not here to hurt you," Peter said calmly. He moved out of the way of the kids exit.

The kid looked uncertainly at Peter, like he didn't understand why he was just letting him go, then climbed to his feet and ran off as fast as he could in the other direction.

It tore at Peter's soul to see how terrified the kid was of him. Peter wondered how long he had been on the streets and where his home and family was. Were they dead? Did he run away? Was he a missing child? Was there a family out there waiting for him to come home? Or was he all alone?

Peter knew there was nothing he could do now. He got a sudden urge to go home and hold his wife, so he made his way out of the alley and to the grocery store.

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As Elizabeth turned off her car and opened the door she thought back to what Peter said a week ago. Peter seemed so upset when he got home and when he told her what happened, she couldn't help but feel sympathy for the poor boy. He was all alone and it was only going to get colder as winter got closer.

The alley that Peter said the kid was in was only a few blocks away from were they lived, so Elizabeth couldn't help but feel a little unsafe walking the half a block from her car to their house.

She was walking up to her house when she saw someone sleeping on the steps leading to the door. He was curled up on his side facing her so she could see his face. He was young and looked a lot like the boy Peter had described. He was dirty looking, like he had been on the streets far too long. It was so sad to see the poor boy sleeping there.

"Excuse me," Elizabeth said. The boy opened his eyes and looked around, but it didn't look like he was registering what he was seeing. Elizabeth hoped he wasn't on any drugs, not only for the fear of what he might do, but also the thought of a young man wasting his meager money on something like that.

He finally looked up at her and she could see he had the most beautiful blue eyes. They were the same shade of blue the sky was, only more... _complex_.

He still looked confused as to where he was, so Elizabeth decided to help him. "Hi. You fell asleep on my steps."

He looked alarmed at that. He quickly sat up, but that seemed to hurt him as he wrapped an arm around his abdomen and winced.

"Are you okay?" she asked, moving closer.

He nodded unconvincingly and stood up quickly but carefully. "Sorry," he mumbled and started down the street. Elizabeth was saddened to see that he was limping. She really didn't know what to do for the poor boy.

"Hey," she said on a whim. The boy stopped and turned around, so she opened her purse and started to dig through it. After a moment, she produced a fifty dollar bill. She held it out for him to take. "Here, take this and buy yourself a nice coat. It's going to get colder and yours won't be enough this winter."

He looked unsure, but cautiously stepped forward and took the money. "Thank you," he said timidly as he shoved the bill in his pocket. He didn't look proud to take it, but was desperate enough to do so.

"Take care of yourself," she said.

He nodded, smiled slightly, then walked away.

It tore at Elizabeth's heart to know that that child would be all alone, but she knew she couldn't do anything about it, and that saddened her even more.

With a slightly defeated sigh, she turned and walked up the steps of her house.

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With the fifty he got from the generous woman, Neal bought a warm coat from a thrift store and a cheap burger and still had thirty dollars left. He didn't bother buying a drink - he just refilled a bottle he had from drinking fountains around town.

He thought about using some of his money on staying at a motel, but he knew that would be a waste if he wanted to make his money last. Food was the most important thing he could buy and he wasn't going to waste it on luxuries like a warm bed or a shower that didn't involve a public bathroom sink.

A few days before, three guys decided that the abandoned house he was squatting in was theirs all of a sudden, so they threw him out and then proceeded to beat the crap out of him until he 'got the message,' as they had put it. After waking up in an alley to a very large man looming over him, Neal had thought that an abandoned house would be safer. Apparently he was wrong.

After that happened, he wasn't feeling too good, but after he ate and slept in that warm coat, he was feeling a lot better. If the nice woman hadn't given him that money, he would have had to steal something to wear and eat, and that would have been risky in the shape he was in.

For never actually having to live on the streets before now, Neal had a lot of street smarts. He knew to stay out of populated areas while school was in - he learned that long ago when someone tried to help him find his way, like he was actually lost, but that was almost three years ago in a very different city.

He knew that richer areas were always best for pickpocketing, not only because of the better payout, but because people in rougher areas know to keep an eye out for pickpockets. And they might take it upon themselves to punish you instead of calling the police. Neal knew from experience that he could escape from the police a lot easier than a bunch of angry guys and a baseball bat.

He knew that his age can be a catch twenty-two. It can help because people usually don't assume the innocent looking kid with the baby-blue eyes. But it can also be a disadvantage as kid wandering around alone at night tends to be suspicious.

All of the things he learned through his difficult life had helped him live on the streets for three months, but it wasn't easy and he went to sleep hungry far too often. And where he slept wasn't very safe or comfortable. He would sometimes squat in old and abandoned houses, but they were often taken and dangerous as they were sought after. When he wasn't able to find an abandoned house to squat in, he slept on park benches or the front stoops of houses he wished he lived in.

It was a close call when the nice woman found him on her steps. She could have called the police and they would have called child services when they found out he was under age. Of course, if that did happen, Neal would have found a way to slip away while no one was looking. People tend to underestimate him because kids his age don't know how to get in and out of places without notice like he does. Kids his age don't _need_ to know that.

Neal had easily forged passes for some of the museums and galleries around the city so he could get in whenever he wanted and didn't have to pay. The museums in St. Louis were nice, but the ones in New York were huge and filled with so many things and Neal had spent countless hours viewing them all. The buildings were also heated, so that was definitely a good excuse to stay inside for a while. For every minute he spent inside was one less outside in the cold.

Staying in libraries also helped keep him out of the bitter cold. Neal would spend time reading any book he can get ahold of. There's so much one could learn when reading and he often loses himself in the pages of the books.

Central Park had so many beautiful things to draw, even in late fall, and on the nicer days, Neal often found himself under the shade of an oak tree while sketching scenic pictures either from memory or from right in front of him. Neal had actually been able to sell a few of his sketches for a few bucks, too.

Central Park can also be a good place to scam tourists out of some of their money by playing Find The Lady or other card games. Neal didn't have a partner to make it look like someone could win a lot of money from playing or anything like that, but he still got some money out of it. Neal had always been good with slight of hand, so he won far more often than he lost.

A week later Neal met a man that Neal thought would be able to help him make some real cash. His name was Mathew Keller and word on the street was he needed a guy that could break into safes. Neal set up a meet and before he knew it, he was breaking into someone's house while the owner was on vacation. He didn't need the jewels that were in his safe - they were insured and his ex-girlfriend gave them back when they broke up anyway, so they were just sitting in that safe collecting dust.

He got the safe open quickly and they were in and out in no time. It all went perfectly and he got five-thousand dollars out of it.

The first thing he bought was a big, juicy steak. He savored each delicious bite. The next thing he bought was a small room at a trashy place called the Empire State Hotel. He knew he could have afforded a much nicer place, but not in the long run. He needed to conserve his money because he didn't know when he'd get another chance to earn some more.

Then he bought some clothes at a thrift shop down the street from the motel. They weren't brand new, but they didn't have holes in them and they didn't smell, so it was an improvement from the clothes he was wearing.

A week later Keller contacted Neal again. He said he had another job for him, but the job was breaking into a bank. That wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't in the middle of the day - with guns. Neal hated guns and the thought of anyone getting hurt, so he declined the offer and gave the police an anonymous tip that that bank was going to be robbed. He didn't like the idea of burning a bridge with someone that could have helped him make some more money - that steak was really, really good - but he couldn't just let Keller rob that bank and someone get hurt.

A day later Neal found out that you don't turn on Mathew Keller and get away with it.

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 **Ooh, cliffhanger! Tell me what you guys think of where this is going!**


	3. To Catch A Thief

**I know I didn't post a chapter yesterday, but I was trying to give myself some time to write the next chapter so it wouldn't be as long before the chapter after this one. I still don't have much written, but I think I have most of it figured out.**

 **Thank you guys for so many reviews! You're great!**

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 _A day later Neal found out that you don't turn on Mathew Keller and get away with it._

Neal was in the trashy hotel he was holding up in when there was a knock on the door. No one knew he was here - he didn't really have anyone to tell - so he had no clue who would be at the door.

Neal considered just leaving out the window, but he decided to just see who it was then decide if he needed to run.

He opened the door and came face to face with Mathew Keller.

"Caffrey!" Keller said happily, a smile on his face that seemed to have an evil twist to it. "Can I come in?"

"What do you what, Keller?" Neal asked, not letting the man in.

"You turned down my last offer to do business, so I'm here to _persuade_ you to say yes to my new one," Keller said, the real meaning of his words not lost on Neal.

Suddenly there was another man at the door, pushing it open and forcing Neal to step back or get run over.

"Actually, I lied," Keller amended as he walked into the room. He pointed at the newcomer. "He's here to persuade you."

Neal backed up a few steps and the large man followed his footsteps. Neal put a hand between himself and his attacker in a futile attempt to ward off the attack.

Neal thought about making a run for it, but the thug was blocking the path to the door and Keller was by the window. He really wished he had escaped when he had the chance.

"Don't hurt him too bad - he still has a job to do," Keller said.

The thug nodded, then landed his first blow. The fist hit Neal in the face with enough force that he fell backwards against the wall. But he wasn't even close to done. Another blow to the face knocked Neal to the floor, which was not where he wanted to be. Neal knew from experience that you're most vulnerable when you're on the floor.

Neal tried to get up, but the man kicked him in the stomach, effectively knocking the breath out of him. More kicks followed and Neal knew all he could do now was protect his head and torso as much as he could.

Despite Neal's efforts, his abdomen still took the brunt of the attack, as did his arms that were trying to protect his more vital body parts.

Finally after what seemed like forever, the vicious assault stopped. Neal cautiously moved his arms away from his face so he could see. Keller sauntered over to Neal's enfolded form and crouched down.

"Now you know, kid. You don't double-cross me and get away with it," Keller whispered menacingly.

Keller reached out and Neal flinched back, excepting a hit. But Keller instead took Neal's chin and turned his head so he was looked into Neal's eyes.

"You tried to screw me over, but now you're going to help me steal a painting."

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"Boss, we have movement at the east entrance," Diana said as she looked at one of the monitors.

Peter looked at the monitor that showed the east entrance. There was a figure clad in black clothing and a baseball cap. His face wasn't covered, but he was focusing on the lock on the door, so Peter couldn't see his face. There was a cylinder poster tube on his back and Peter knew exactly what was in there.

"Should we go in?" Jones asked.

"No, we'll wait until he comes back out," Peter said as the lithe figure slipped into the museum. He must have disabled the alarms because none went off.

They had gotten an anonymous tip that someone was going to steal something in this museum tonight, but since it was just a tip, they didn't have access to the cameras inside the building. So they'd just have to wait until the thief came back out and catch him red-handed.

Ten minutes later the figure came back out, the cylinder case on his back undoubtedly holding a valuable painting now.

"Alright, let's move in," Peter said as he got up and went out the back door of the van, his agents right behind him.

The thief was walking down the sidewalk by the museum, acting like he didn't just break into a high security museum and steal a five-hundred-thousand dollar painting, all under ten minutes.

Peter and his team approached the man from behind, but when they got about twenty feet away, the man turned around. Peter could barely see the guys face in the dim lighting of the night, but he could see his eyes widen in shock as he took in the three agents with guns.

"FBI, freeze!" Peter yelled, still approaching.

Peter expected him the surrender, but the guy actually had the nerve to run. Peter ran after him, but the guy was fast. Fortunately his energy seemed to dissipate and Peter tackled him to the ground.

Peter yanked off the poster case then pulled his arms behind his back, eliciting a groan from the thief. He didn't even bother fighting, he just laid there, panting. The fall must have really knocked the wind out of him.

Peter easily pulled the guy off the ground and took at him. He was just a kid, and he looked really familiar, too, but Peter couldn't place where from. A _kid_ actually broke into a museum, and expertly too? He couldn't be older than sixteen.

Peter looked into his eyes and saw fear in them, but he also saw pain. Did the fall hurt him? Before Peter could question the kid, Diana and Jones caught up to them. Jones took the kid and started reading his rights as he lead him to the car.

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The kid was completely silent during the car ride to the office, and twenty minutes of questions after that. After getting nowhere with him, Peter let him sit and think for a few hours.

The poster case had what looked like a five-hundred-thousand-dollar painting inside. When the museum personnel were told, they checked where that painting was supposed to be and they found an impressive replica in its place. It took a few hours for them to figure out which one was the real thing - even though it was pretty obvious which one it should've been, they still had to make sure they knew which one was the fake - whoever made the painting was a pro.

If the kid was smart he'd give up the names of the guys that were in charge of the break in, because Peter knew that he wasn't the mastermind behind it.

Peter figured three hours of thinking would be good enough, so he went back into the interrogation room to find that the kid still hadn't moved from where he was. His hands were cuffed behind his back and his was sitting in a metal chair, right where Peter had left him.

Peter pulled out a chair on the other side of the table and sat down. The kid didn't move an inch.

"Silence isn't going to help you," Peter said as he stared down the top of the kids head.

The kid refused to looked up from the table. He was completely stoic.

"Why don't you just give me your first name, so I don't have to call you 'kid'?"

Absolutely no movement. Peter didn't know that a kid could hold still this long.

"If you don't tell me where your parents are, I'm going to have to put you in Juvie until your trial, since you're obviously underage."

Through the one-way mirror behind the kid Peter could see the kids hands clench into fists. Apparently either Juvie or parents were a touchy subject for him. Or both.

"I don't want to do it, but I'm going to have to," Peter said with regret he didn't have to fake.

It must have been a great test of self-control not to move for that long.

"If you give me the name of the guy behind the heist, I'll cut a deal with you. You could get a reduced sentence."

Peter didn't offer that three hours ago. It got a reaction from the kid. He looked up and stared intently enough at Peter that he had to resist the urge to squirm under the intense gaze.

"How do I know you're not lying?" he asked, sounding more like an adult than he looked.

"I'm a man of my word," Peter said sincerely.

"What would stop you from just throwing me in jail after I tell you?"

"I'm an FBI agent, we don't lie."

The kid laughed outright at that, though it sounded a little bitter.

"Look, kid, I don't know what past experiences made you wary of police, but I'm here to help you, not just throw you in jail," Peter said.

The kid seemed to contemplate that for a minute. "His name is Keller, Mathew Keller," he said finally.

Peter nodded. "Good," he said. He knew exactly who Keller was.

Peter leaned forward and put his hands on the table between them. "Now, what's your name?"

The kid looked like he was weighing him options, then answered, "Neal."

"Neal...?" Peter prompted, but the kid didn't elaborate. "Do you have a last name, Neal?"

"Nope. It's like Cher or Madonna or Sting," Neal said, and Peter was surprised that he even knew who those people were. They were all way before his time.

"Really?" Peter said, not believing the kid. Neal nodded. "I'm going to have to put you in the system as 'Neal Doe' then."

The kid didn't seem to like the sound of that. "My last name is Caffrey," he said after a moment.

"You've been a big help, Neal, but I'm afraid I still have to take you to the Juvenile Detention Center," Peter said sadly.

The kids eyes widened in fear and suddenly Peter knew exactly where he had seen him before - in that alley a few weeks ago. He had the same scared and young look on his face that night. Elizabeth also said that she had seen the kid about a week after that night. He was sleeping on their front step. Poor kid doesn't even have a home.

"Did you run away from home? Are you a missing child?" Peter couldn't help but ask.

Neal seemed a little surprised by the question. "In order to be missing, you kinda have to be missed," the kid said sadly, but also like he was used to the fact. It pulled at Peter's heartstrings. That really didn't answer his question, but Peter didn't have the heart to pry anymore.

"How'd you know I was there? The museum, I mean," Neal asked.

"We got an anonymous tip that someone was going to break into that museum, so we staked it out."

Anger flashed across Neal's face for a second before it was wiped away and replaced by a neutral look. The kid could have been a good conman one day. Hopefully Juvie would straighten the kid out. Peter really didn't want to arrest him again in a few years.

"So, are you going to take me to Juvie now?" Neal asked. He sounded resigned.

Peter stood up, nodding. "Yeah, we should probably get going." He went to help Neal out of his chair, but the kid flinched back, his eyes wide and afraid. That look appeared on the kids face far too often.

The kid then looked down, ashamed. "Sorry," he said, like he did something wrong. He was still tense.

Peter approached slower this time, and when Neal didn't flinch back, Peter helped him out of the chair and out of the interrogation room. Peter took off the handcuffs and put them back on, but with Neal's hand in front of him. Then they made their way down to Peter's car.

Peter hadn't eaten in hours and he was starving. It was definitely too late to have dinner with Elizabeth. She had no doubt fed his dinner to Satchmo already. Taking one look at Neal, Peter could tell that he hadn't eaten well for some time.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm starving," Peter said. "How about we stop to get something to eat."

Neal looked doubtfully at Peter, like he was lying about feeding him, then nodded.

"What do you want to eat?" Peter asked. What does a teenager like to eat? Burgers, maybe? Of course Peter doubted the kid sitting next to him was a normal teenager.

"I don't have any money with me, so I won't get anything. You can eat anywhere you want to," Neal said.

Neal expected to have to pay? "I was going to pay," Peter said, trying not to make it sound like that was obvious.

"Really?" Neal asked, surprised and far too hopeful.

"Looking at the size of you, I doubt you eat much anyway," Peter said. "So, what do you want to eat then?"

Neal shrugged. "Whatever is fine with me," he said. He would probably be happy with any food. Peter decided to go through a drive-thru at a fast food joint.

Peter asked what Neal wanted and the kid seemed hesitant at first, but then he ordered a burger with everything on it, then after some more persuading, also got a drink. Peter got himself two burgers, some fries and a drink.

Before Peter had driven back into traffic, Neal had finished half of his burger. Never in his life had Peter seen a human eat something so fast. He had seen a dog eat that fast once though. When he was younger, he had seen a half-starved dog on his way home from school and fed it a small bag of carrots he had in his backpack. It was sad to see that the poor animal was that starved. Peter felt the same emotions pulling at his heart as he watched the kid next to him eat so fast.

"You want my second burger?" Peter asked after Neal finished scarfing down his sandwich.

"You're not going to eat it?" Neal asked, hesitant.

"Nah, you can have it," Peter said. He had planned on giving to him anyway, but Neal didn't need to know that.

Neal eagerly dug into the bag and grabbed Peter second sandwich. That one didn't last long either.

The rest of the drive to Juvie was silent save for the music playing quietly in the background. Neal looked out the window the whole time, watching the scenery go by. He looked like he was trying to soak up everything the outside world could give him before he was put behind bars. Maybe he was.

After the long car ride, they finally arrived. The tall chainlink fence with barbed wire on the top that surrounded the building was imposing, and by the look on Neal's face, he agreed.

When Peter helped Neal out of the car, he winced as if he was in pain.

"Are you hurt?" Peter asked, feeling like an idiot for not asking earlier when he saw the kid wince the first time.

Neal gave him an odd look. "Uh, no," he said.

Peter looked straight at Neal. "If you're hurt, you need to tell me now," he said sternly but kindly.

"I'm fine," Neal said, not looking Peter in the eye.

Peter sighed and lead Neal into the building. If the kid wouldn't tell him something was wrong, he couldn't really do anything about it. But he would tell someone to check on him to make sure he was alright.

Peter got Neal settled and went home for the night. It was late and he really needed some sleep.

WCWCWCWC

 **Reviews make me smile!**


	4. Juvenile Delinquent Or Abandoned Soul?

**You guys have been so good to me! I've gotten so many nice reviews. Thank you guys!**

 **One of the reasons this chapter took longer is because it's about five hundred words longer. And the other reason is I wasn't sure where I wanted to go with this chapter, but I figured it out eventually!**

 **Well, on the story!**

A week later, Peter went back to the Juvenile Detention Center to visit Neal. Peter had a few questions about Keller and the heist and he hoped Neal could - and would - answer them.

Peter sat at one of the tables in the visiting area while he waited for someone to bring Neal out. There were several other people at other tables, talking to their loved ones. The sounds of all of the voices merged together to the point where Peter couldn't make out any one conversation unless he focused.

After waiting about five minutes, a juvenile corrections officer brought a very small and young looking Neal to the table that Peter was sitting at. He didn't look very much like the kid that Peter had arrested a week ago. If the kid was skinny before, Peter didn't know how to describe the thin boy that was now in front of him. It might have been the large man that was escorting him and the grey jumpsuit he had on that made him look even smaller and skinnier though. He was also sporting several bruises on his face and Peter was pretty sure he was trying to hide a limp.

But when he saw Peter, he smiled, wide and happy. "Peter," he said happily, like he didn't look far too much like the malnourished dog in that alley all those years ago.

"What happened, Neal?" Peter asked as he stood up, not sure if the kid would keel over any second.

Neal looked confused. "What are you talking about?" If he was playing dumb, he was doing one hell of a job at it.

"The bruises," Peter said, gesturing at Neal's face. "And when's the last time you ate?"

Neal looked like he was thinking that over. "About an hour ago," he said after a beat.

Not getting the answers he wanted from Neal, Peter turn to the JCO that lead him in. "What happened to him?" Peter asked, indicating the boy next to him.

If anything, the JCO looked even more confused than Neal. "What do you mean, sir?" he asked, looking from Neal to Peter.

Peter got right up in the man's face. "I don't know what kind of operation you're running here, but if you think that the condition that this kid is in is acceptable, I'll personally see to it that everyone responsible for the mistreatment of him or any other kid in this facility is properly punished," Peter said, nearly shouting but somehow holding himself back.

By the time Peter finished his speech, the JCO was practically shaking in his boots. Neal, on the other hand, was watching with a expression that looked something like admiration, maybe even awe.

"I-uh, umm-" the officer stuttered.

"I want to talk to your supervisor," Peter demanded. The JCO rushed off in a hurry to get his boss.

Peter turned back to Neal, who was smiling up at him like he just did something heroic. "That was awesome," Neal said. "That guy's an ass."

"Watch your language," Peter chided, pointing a finger at the kid and suddenly feeling like the kids dad. Peter idly wondered what the kids life would be like if he was. He definitely wouldn't have broken into a museum and got thrown into Juvie.

Neal was still looking at him, a smile on his face. But his eyes weren't as bright or happy as they were a week ago.

"What happened to you?" Peter asked again, this time softer.

"Me and some guy had a disagreement," Neal said, shrugging, like it was no big deal.

"Did you report it?" Peter asked.

"Well, two of the guards saw it happen, so I didn't really need to," Neal said.

"Did they stop you two?" Peter asked.

"Two?" Neal questioned. "I didn't even hit the guy!" he defended, not happy about being accused.

"Why did he hit you?" Peter asked.

"He wanted my food, said it was his," Neal said, still not looking nearly as upset as he should've been. He seemed more upset about being blamed than being hit and having his food taken from him.

"And you've been giving it to him? Is that why it looks like you've barely eaten since the last time I saw you?" Peter asked.

"It was that or get beat up again," Neal said, almost dismissively.

"There's a third option here, Neal," Peter said. Neal looked and him questionably. "You tell the staff," Peter almost shouted.

"I can fight my own battles, Peter," Neal said.

Peter walked closer and slowly put a hand on Neal's shoulder so he didn't flinch back. "You don't _need_ to," he said softly.

Neal just looked away, shy or maybe embarrassed, so Peter took his hand back off of the kids shoulder.

The JCO came back with an older man that was wearing a suit. "My name is Walter Drisket," he said, extending a hand for Peter to shake. "You wanted to see me?"

Peter ignored the hand. He pointed at Neal. "Are you the one that's allowing this kid to starve and get into fights while under your care? He's skinnier than he was when I brought him in a week ago and he was living on the streets!" he said, not containing his anger anymore.

Neal looked offended. "I wasn't living on the streets," he defended. Peter and Drisket ignored Neal, much to his annoyance.

Drisket had put his hand down halfway through Peter's rant. "Mr...?" Drisket questioned.

"Special Agent Peter Burke," Peter responded briskly.

"Mr. Burke-" Drisket started, only to be cut off by Peter.

" _Agent_ Brurke."

Drisket looked annoyed, but didn't comment. "Right. _Agent_ Burke, I think we should take this somewhere more private. Don't want to cause a scene."

Peter looked around to see that quite a few people were staring, including Neal. Peter didn't want the kid to hear some of what he was planning on saying to Drisket, so he nodded. "Fine."

"Let's talk in my office," Drisket said. "Mr. Carter, take Neal back to his room."

The JCO grabbed Neal by the arm and lead him back from where he came from. Neal turned back to look at Peter as he was lead away, his eyes a little fearful. Then they became resigned as he turned to look ahead again.

Peter and Drisket left the visiting area through a different door. They traveled down a hallway and at the end of it was a door that Drisket unlocked. Both men walked through the door and Drisket walked around the desk that was in the middle of the decently sized office. Peter sat down in a chair in front of the desk after Drisket gestured for him to. He didn't want to be formal about any of this, but he figured he could at least try so he didn't get kicked out.

"Why are you here to talk to Neal, Agent Burke?" Drisket asked.

Peter sighed. He didn't want to go through all of this, but he figured it was the best way to get answers. "As you probably know, Neal was involved in a heist a week ago and I had a few questions about it," he explained.

Drisket nodded. "Okay, and why do you think that Neal isn't being treated properly?" he asked, not unkindly.

Drisket's naïveté angered Peter. "Do you not see that kid?" he asked angrily, then calmed himself before speaking again. "He told me that he got into a fight and his food has been taken from him - I think that's enough to warrant concern," he said. "Why aren't you doing anything about it?"

"There are over two hundred kids in this facility - we can't watch them all every second of the day."

"I understand that, but can't you see that he's a skeleton?" Peter said, not really agreeing.

"One of the only ways a kid can really get help here is if he asks. Neal just simply doesn't ask," Drisket said, shrugging as if it was no big deal. Peter could see that Drisket was a political man - someone that says he'll do what everyone wants, but never actually does, and then gets away with it. Peter hated men like him.

"You'd better start doing something about it, or I'm going to find all of your dirty little secrets and bring them out to the light of day," Peter threatened.

The man's eyes widened in response, but he didn't look very afraid. "Agent Burke, I'll do what I can about the kid that's been bullying Neal, but I don't appreciate threats."

"And I don't appreciate seeing kids being mistreated," Peter snapped back.

"You have to understand, we're not the ones mistreating him. High schools have bully's, just like this place," Drisket said.

Peter knew he wasn't getting anywhere with this man. At least he said that he'd try to help stop the bully. It was all he could hope for from the guy.

Peter stood up. "I think I've heard enough from you," he said, then walked out without another word.

On his way back to the visiting area, a man came up to him. "Sir, are you here to speak with Neal Caffrey?" he asked.

"Yes, I was, and I am going to talk to him now," Peter said as he went to walk around the man, but stopped at his words.

"I'm the man that checked Neal over when he arrived here a week ago."

Peter turned to the man and took a good look at him. He was wearing a white lab coat and had light brown hair that was starting to gray at the tips. The man's brown eyes were soft and kind as he looked at Peter.

"My name is Kevin Harper. I'm the resident physician here," he said as he extended his hand to shake.

Peter took the man's hand in his. "Peter Burke. You wouldn't have stopped to tell me who you are unless you wanted to talk to me about something. I'm assuming it has something to do with Neal."

"There are a few things that I thought you should know about Neal," he said, then looked around. "We should discuss this in my office."

Intrigued by what the man had to say, Peter nodded then followed as Harper lead the way to his office. This one was much smaller than Drisket's, but it had a homier feel to it.

Once they were seated, Harper began. "When Neal came in he had quite a few bruises on his abdomen, so we did some X-rays. They revealed something that I thought you should know about."

"What did they show? Is he all right?" Peter asked, a sinking feeling forming in his gut.

"The X-rays showed that he has two cracked ribs...but it also showed signs of extensive abuse," Harper said slowly.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked. He knew what the doctor was saying, but he didn't want to believe it.

"The X-rays showed that many of Neal's ribs had at one point been broken - more than once," Harper said. "And he also has some scars on his body. When I asked him where they came from, he just shrugged and said that it didn't matter."

"Oh my god," Peter said quietly.

"I only took X-rays of his chest, but I would assume that the rest of his body looks about the same."

"He flinched away from me when I got close," Peter said, feeling a little numb. He had just thought that he was wary of others because of his time on the streets.

Harper leaned forward and put his hands on his desk. "In my line of work, I deal with far too many kids that had been abused, so I know the signs, and I can tell you with certainly that Neal is one."

"Why are you telling me this? Can't you get into trouble?"

"I thought you should know more about him before you speak to him," he said, then a small, secretive smile appeared on his lips. "Besides, I won't tell anyone if you don't."

"Thank you," Peter said sincerely. Harper seemed to really care about Neal and Peter appreciated that. At least someone was looking out for him in this place.

After shaking hands with Harper, Peter left and found his way back to the visiting area. He asked a guard to bring Neal back out then sat down at the same table as he had before.

A few minutes later Neal and the guard came out. Neal looked surprised to see Peter. "You didn't leave," he commented, though he didn't sound so sure of the statement even though Peter was right there.

"Of course I didn't. I barely got the talk to you," Peter said.

The JCO went to lean against a wall a few feet away - out of the way, but close enough to watch them.

Neal sat down across from Peter and smiled. "Talk away," Neal said, gesturing with his hands. He seemed far happier than Peter expected an abused child would be. Of course Peter had never known an abused child, so it was hard to compare.

"Well, I looked you up, but it seems you don't exist," Peter commented.

"A lot of kids my age aren't in the system," Neal said, shrugging.

"Well, what about your parents? What are their names?" Peter asked, trying to get some more information out of the kid.

Something in Neal's eyes darkened and Peter had a feeling he knew why. "It doesn't matter," he said.

Peter knew there was a risk to pushing Neal, but he needed answers. "I bet they would beg to differ."

"What does it matter to you anyway?" Neal asked, his voice rising a little.

"It matters because I need to know where your parents are," Peter said, trying to sound kind but authoritative.

"They don't care where I am," Neal said, looking more resigned than sad - he was used to the fact. Why would a parent not care where their child is? The thought made Peter's heart clench.

"How about I call them and ask just to make sure," Peter offered.

Neal sighed. "You're not going to give up on this, are you?" he asked, looking annoyed.

Peter shook his head. "Nope, now spit it out."

Neal was quiet for a minute, but Peter didn't speak up. He could tell that the kid was working up the courage to tell Peter about his parents. "My mom is dead and my dad is in jail," he finally said, his voice quiet.

Peter's heart ached for Neal. He couldn't think of not having his parents there for him when he was a kid. He still relied on their love and support from time to time when things got tough. Neal didn't have that option.

"Can you tell me their names?" Peter asked quietly.

Neal shook his head and didn't say anything. Peter doubted he would get that out of him.

Peter didn't want to ask his next question because he was pretty sure he knew the answer and he really didn't want to hear it out loud. "Do you have anyone else I could call? An aunt or uncle?"

Neal shook his head. "No," he said simply, and Peter believed him.

"Well, I'd like to talk to you about Keller and the heist," Peter said after a minute.

"What's in it for me?" Neal asked, already wheeling and dealing.

"You'll get the satisfaction of helping out the good guys," Peter said.

Neal laughed at that, then thought for a minute. "I'll help you," he said, then paused for affect before continuing. "On one condition."

Peter sighed, not sure if he liked where this was going. "And what's that condition?"

"You get me out of here," Neal said, making it sound like it was just that easy.

"That's not going to happen," Peter said immediately, shaking his head.

"I know you're not going to just cut me loose and let me me merry way, but I could be in your custody, as a consultant," he said.

"The FBI doesn't hire sixteen year olds," Peter said.

"You're not hiring me, I'd just give you guys advice and help you with cases."

"You want to be a snitch?" Peter asked, doubtful.

"Snitch is such a harsh word. I think consultant sounds better," he said, flashing Peter a winning smile.

"Whatever the name, it's still not gonna happen," Peter said, shaking his head.

"Come on, Peter. You're not going to even see what I could do to help?"

"And what would you know that we don't?" Peter asked, doubtful that a kid could know more than the FBI.

"Do you know how to tell a counterfeit hundred from the real thing? Do you know how to break into a 1943 McKenzie safe under ten minutes? How about getting past the security cameras and guards at the Guggenheim?"

"And how would you know these things?" Peter asked, deflecting Neal from his astonishment at the kids abilities.

Neal shrugged. "I dabble."

"Right," Peter drawled. He thought a few things through, trying to find a reason why Neal couldn't help. "And where would you live? Back on the streets?" Peter asked after a thought crossed his mind.

"I wasn't living on the streets," Neal argued, looking annoyed by Peter's question.

"I saw you sleeping in an alley three weeks ago," Peter said. "Most people don't do that willingly."

A shamed look came across Neal's face and he looked away, making Peter regret his words. "I got a place after that," he said.

"Well, I'm still not letting a sixteen year old out of Juvie just so he could skip town the first chance he gets," Peter said, feeling a little regret by not being able to help him.

"But you could if you put a GPS tracking anklet on me. You'd know where I was at all times," Neal bargained. "The new ones are tamper-proof."

"You've been planning this," Peter said, realization dawning on him.

"I've had some time on my hands," Neal said, shrugging.

Peter said nothing for a while. "This is a little unorthodox," he eventually stated.

"Let's call it a trial run," Neal said, putting a dazzling smile on his face. He definitely would have been a great conman.

"There are a lot of things to work out, arrangements to be made," Peter said, hesitant.

"I know you'll figure in out," Neal said, confident in Peter's abilities.

"I'm definitely not making any promises, but I'll talk to my boss about it. See what he has to say," Peter said, still hesitant.

Neal smiled, wide and happy. There was a lot more joy in that smile than the previous ones. "I'll be here."

"You'd better be," Peter warned, but with no heat behind the words.

"I won't breakout until I know if you can get me out or not," Neal said. Peter believed that he could manage to get out of this place.

"In the meantime, speak up the next time someone steals your food," Peter said.

Neal nodded, smiling. "Deal," he said as he stood and reached a hand out to shake.

Peter took his hand in his own. He wasn't sure if he'd regret making this deal, but he didn't think he could say no to him either.

 **I think I'm going to do Neal's point of view next Chapter, at least a little bit. For some reason, I feel like Peter is easier to write.**

 **At the end of my last story, I asked people to send me their ideas for stories or scenes, but sadly, no one gave me any. If you guys have any ideas for this story or any other that you wanted to share, I'd like to see if I could do something with them.**

 **Reviews make me smile!**


	5. Negotiations And Baked Goods

**Thank you guys for all of the ideas! Even though I wasn't asking for help on** ** _this_** **story, I appreciate the help. Most of the suggestions were pretty much what I was thinking, so we're on the same page there. So you guys might get some of what you suggested. Thank you guys for the reviews as well!**

Peter returned to the detention center three days later. It took a lot of explaining as to why Neal would be an asset to the bureau and a few not-quite-arguments with several high-ranking people, but Peter was finally given the green light to get Neal out of Juvie for the duration of the Keller case, and maybe longer if he behaved. Neal could do a lot to help them catch Keller, and that was exactly what got the higher-ups to say yes in the end.

As Neal was lead to the table Peter was sitting at, the agent could tell that Neal looked better than he did last time he'd seen him. His eyes seemed brighter and more full of life, and the bruises on his face were fading as well.

When Neal sat down across from Peter, the agent pulled out a container of cookies from the bag that he had, put it on the table in front of Neal and opened it.

Neal's eyes lit up when he saw what was in the container, but he didn't reach for one of the cookies. He looked up at Peter, seemingly asking a silent question. Did he think that Peter would put cookies in front of him then not let him have any?

"Go ahead and have some - they're yours," Peter said, waving a hand toward the container.

"Peter, you shouldn't have," Neal said, but then eagerly dug into the container, grabbed a cookie and ate it in three quick bites. Food didn't seem to last long around Neal.

"They're from my wife, Elizabeth. She had barely even met you and she already loves you," Peter said.

It seemed like the moment Peter told Elizabeth about how Neal was doing, she was making cookies and other treats. Peter told Elizabeth that he couldn't bring ten containers of food to Neal, so she slowed down on the baking and the neighbors got some extra goodies.

A strange look came across Neal's face. It looked like a mixture of confusion and doubt, and maybe a little bit of hope. "Wait, barely?" Neal suddenly asked.

"Uh, yeah. You fell asleep on our steps a few weeks ago," Peter said.

"Those were your steps?" Neal asked around his second cookie, sounding surprised.

"Yeah, small world I suppose," Peter said.

"You have a beautiful home," Neal said quietly, a hint of sadness in his voice.

"That was all Elizabeth, too," Peter said. "She didn't let me do much of the decorating."

Neal laughed a little at that. "So, Peter, you got any news, or was the only reason why you came was so you could give me your wife's cookies?" he asked after a beat.

"It took a while, but I eventually got the go-ahead to get you out of here," Peter announced.

"Really?" Neal asked, sounding a little surprised and looking very hopeful.

"We're still waiting on the tracking anklet, but it'll be ready tomorrow. I'll be here around eight to pick you up."

Neal narrowed his eyes. "What's the catch, though?"

"What makes you think there's a catch?" Peter asked.

"I've learned a long time ago that nothing's free."

A long time ago? How long is a long time for a sixteen year old? A year? Two? That's far too young to see the world like that.

"The catch is you help us catch Keller," Peter said, then paused before adding, "and you'll have to stay at a group home."

"A group home? _Seriously_?" Neal asked, incredulous.

"Well, where would you suggest you stay?" Peter challenged.

"I'd just stay at a motel - I was doing that before," Neal said, like it was the obvious choice.

"You are underage, that means you can't just live on your own. Besides, I went over there and the kids appeared to be happy and the staff seemed nice."

"I've taken care of myself since I was thirteen - I think I'm more than capable of continuing."

Thirteen? When Peter was that age he was worrying about not failing English and whether Stacy Perkins liked him or not, not trying to figure out how to put food on the table. Why did this kid have to worry about that? Where were his parents then?

"You shouldn't have had to," Peter said softly. "I don't know what happened to make you responsible for yourself at that age, but you don't have to do that anymore."

"I'd be easier that way - I wouldn't have to be anyone's burden then," Neal bargained, completely serious.

Burden? Why would Neal think he would be someone's burden? Did his abuser make him think that? Peter would like to have a talk with the person that made Neal think he was just a burden. It wouldn't be a _civil_ conversation, _that's_ for sure. Peter figured that Neal's father was probably who hurt Neal, but he didn't really want to open up those wounds by asking. If his father was in jail and his mother was dead, then there wasn't really a point in asking Neal for their names. The only reason to ask would be to be able to have that chat with that sorry excuse for a father.

"You wouldn't be anyone's burden," Peter said, trying to convince Neal that he wasn't just considered someone that got in the way.

"Even if that were true, I'm still not going to stay at a group home," Neal said as he crossed his arms, sounding and acting like a teenager for once.

Peter could see that the nice and friendly approach wasn't working, so he changed tactics. "Either you stay at the group home, or you're staying here," Peter said. "I'm sorry, but that's your only choices."

Neal stared down Peter for several minutes. "Fine," he eventually said, "but don't expect me to cave every time you give an ultimatum."

"If you say so," Peter just said, causing Neal to scowl at him. The scowl quickly went away after he picked up another cookie.

"Please tell Elizabeth that her cookies were delicious," Neal said.

"She'll love to hear that," Peter said. "You know, I didn't even get any," he commented after a minute.

Neal looked up and smirked at Peter, but then pushed the container over to him. "I'll eat them all if you don't have some, and then I'll have a stomach ache for hours. You'd be doing me a favor if you had a few."

Peter didn't have to be told twice. He dug in and grabbed a delicious chocolate chip cookie and took a bite. Elizabeth always made the best cookies, but she didn't want him to eat them all before Neal had gotten any. She knew that he was powerless after the first one and couldn't stop himself from eating them all if he got a taste. To his credit though, he did manage to only eat two of them while talking to Neal a little longer. He didn't want to take them away from the kid, who obviously needed them more than he did.

WCWCWCWC

Peter got to the detention center right at eight the next day. Neal was lead out to Peter hopefully for the last time. Instead of the grey jumpsuit he had on before, Neal was wearing the black hoodie and black jeans he had on when Peter had arrested him.

Peter took the anklet out of his pocket and brandished it. "Your new fashion accessory." The tracking anklet was black and Peter thought it looked a lot more stylish than their last model. That thing looked like it had come from the nineteen-nineties.

Neal looked at the device a little distastefully, but then lifted his left foot onto a nearby chair and hiked up his pant leg. Peter locked the tracking device around Neal's ankle and made sure it was secure. Its green light blinked reassuringly at him.

"You break the law or try to run, you're back in here," Peter warned with a stern look.

"Don't worry, Peter, I'll make sure to keep my not-so-legal activities on the DL," Neal said cockily with a wink, not worried about saying that in front of Peter at all.

"For both of our sakes, just stay out of trouble," Peter said, a little exasperated, then started walking to the car with Neal in tow.

Right as they reached the car, Peter's phone rang. He pulled in out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID and saw that it was the group home that he was planning on taking Neal to. Peter looked over to Neal, who was watching him curiously.

"I gotta take this. You can wait in the car - it should only be a minute," Peter said as he reached for his car keys and used the little remote to unlock the doors. Neal got in the passenger seat as Peter hit send and put the phone to his ear.

The far too happy person on the other end regretfully informed Peter that there was a mix up with paperwork and there wasn't actually any room for Neal to stay at their group home. Peter asked if there was another place the kid could stay, but the only places available didn't come very highly recommended.

Peter thanked the cheerful person and hung up with a sigh. Peter looked over to his car to see Neal watching him. The kid smiled and waved a little when he saw that Peter was looking at him. How would he tell Neal that he didn't have a place to live? It was part of the terms of his release that Neal had somewhere to stay. Now that he didn't have that, would he have to go back to Juvie? They hadn't even made it out of the parking lot.

With another sigh, Peter walked over to his car and got in.

"Who was on the phone?" Neal asked curiously.

"The group home you were going to stay at."

"Were?" Neal questioned, not missing the way Peter worded it.

Peter sighed. "Yeah, well, apparently you were double-booked with someone else. There isn't any space there, so you can't stay there," he said regretfully.

"So you're taking me to another one?" Neal asked.

"Uh, no...There aren't any other good places available," Peter said in length.

Neal processed the information for a moment. "Oh. Well, I'll just stay at a motel," he said, like it was a good idea.

"That's not going to happen either," Peter said with a shake of his head.

"So you're just going to throw me back in that place?" Neal asked a little angrily as he pointed out the window to the building they had just left.

"I really don't want to..." Peter trailed off, not wanting to finish his sentence.

"But you're going to," Neal concluded. He sighed and ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair as he looked at the detention center.

"You know I won't stay in that place," Neal said quietly. "I'll find a way out, one way or another." He didn't seem to care that he just told an FBI agent that he was going to break out of Juvie. Peter wouldn't do anything about it and Neal knew that.

At this point, Peter saw only two options - the first option would be to take Neal back inside the building, knowing full well that he would break out and go back to living on the streets and committing crimes to put food on the table and a roof over his head. The second option would be to take the kid to his own home until he could come up with a more long-term arrangement. Peter knew that Elizabeth wouldn't object - she wanted to let him into their home when she saw him on their steps a few weeks ago. The only thing that Hughes was concerned about was if Neal ran off or not, so he wouldn't have to ask his boss for permission.

Decision made, Peter quickly texted Elizabeth, then started the car and put it into drive.

"Where are we going?" Neal asked as Peter navigated through the parking lot.

"My house," Peter said simply.

"Why are we going there?" Neal asked, apparently not catching on.

"You're going to stay with me and my wife until we find a more permanent place for you to live," Peter said, then continued in a quieter voice. "I said that I'd get you out of there and I'm not going back on that."

A warm smile spread across Neal's face. "I knew you liked me," he said a little arrogantly.

"Don't read too much into it," Peter muttered, trying to hide a smile.

Peter made it to the street and pointed the car towards home. The ride was quiet until Neal started messing with the radio. Peter would've been okay with that if the kid stayed on one channel for more than two seconds before changing the station again.

"Stop it," Peter said as he lightly smacked Neal's hand away.

"I can't find a song that I like," he said.

"This song is fine," Peter said.

Neal scoffed at that. Peter didn't even know what song it was - some old pop-rock song that sounded a little too sappy for Peter's taste.

"You didn't do this last time you were in my car," Peter complained.

"Last time I was cuffed," Neal said as he positioned his hand so he could quickly reach out the next time Peter looked away.

"Is that what I'm doing wrong?" Peter asked, only half joking.

Neal glared at Peter, then changed the channel again just for spite. It ended up on some new pop song that sounded vaguely familiar to Peter. Neal seemed satisfied for the time being and sat back and looked out the window, watching the landscape go by.

Peter wondered how all of this was going to work out. What would it be like to have a teenager under him and his wife's roof? How long would he be staying? Would he go back to school at some point if this little trial run works out? How long had it been since Neal had been in school?

Peter was tempted to ask, but when he looked over at the kid, he was sleeping. His head was against the window a soft snore came from his slightly open mouth. Peter wondered if he had gotten much sleep back at the detention center. His face was so much less guarded than when he was awake, more innocent and young. The kid seemed so wise beyond his years and Peter hated the circumstances that forced him to grow up so young.

Peter turned the radio down a little as he continued to drive towards home.

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 **My mom came up with the idea of Peter bringing Neal cookies. She's been helping me with editing and ideas for my last couple of stories. Thank you for the help and support, mom!**

 **I didn't end up doing Neal's point of view because I couldn't really think of what to write. Like I said before, Peter is easier to write for me.**

 **Elizabeth should be in the next chapter, as well as Satchmo! I love Mozzie, but I'm not sure how to bring him into the story. I liked how someone made him Neal's teacher, but I'm not sure if it would be right to do that as well - it was kinda their idea. What do you guys think? How should Mozzie fit into this story?**

 **Reviews make me smile!**


	6. The Rescue

**I'd like to devote this chapter to my cat Cody that just passed away and my dog Baby that also passed away a few months before that. They were wonderful animals and I will miss them, but I know that it was their time and I accept that. Cody was a rescue and Baby was the runt of the litter and they both lived long and happy lives because we brought them into our lives.**

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Neal had slept the entire ride to Brooklyn, only stirring slightly when a taxi honked its horn to get a cat out of the street.

Peter parked a few houses down from his house and turned off the car, then looked at the kid next to him. He was still sleeping away, looking dubiously innocent as ever. And now Peter realized that he had to wake the kid up. Easier said than done, apparently.

"Neal, we're here," Peter said. The kid didn't even stir. "Neal, wake up," he said, louder this time. Neal moved a little, but he still wouldn't wake.

Not getting any results from that tactic, Peter cautiously reached over and shook Neal by his shoulder a little. "Neal, wake up. We're here." Peter didn't like the idea of having to touch Neal because of what had happened the previous times, but the kid needed to wake up.

As expected, Neal startled back when he felt Peter shaking him. His eyes flew open and darted around until they landed on Peter's face. He relaxed immediately. "Where are we?" he asked, sleep still muddling his mind.

"My house," Peter said. "Hughes - my boss - is allowing you a day to get settled in before reporting for duty."

Neal wiped a hand over his face, then combed his fingers through his hair in an attempt at taming it. It worked pretty well and now it didn't look like he had been sleeping against a window for two hours.

"Ready to meet my wife? Officially I mean," Peter said as he opened his door.

Neal nodded and opened his door. Both of them got out and made their way toward the white, three story house nestled between the other houses.

Peter led the way up the steps, but he noticed that Neal was hesitating slightly. "She doesn't bite," Peter joked as the kid made it the the top step with Peter, making Neal snap his head up, eyes wide as if Peter had caught him doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing.

"Are you sure you guys want to do this? I could just stay at a motel. I don't want to be a burden-" Neal said, but Peter's raised hand stopped him from speaking immediately. The kid cringed back slightly and tensed, as if preparing himself for a blow. After Peter realized that, he lowered his hand immediately.

"I'm sorry, Neal. I wasn't going to hit you," Peter said softly. Peter wanted to reach out and put a comforting hand of the kids shoulder, but he suspected that that would have made things even worse.

"I know," Neal said, a little too fast for it to be believable. He refused to look at Peter. Peter's heart ached to think that Neal thought that he would hurt him in any way. But he had been used to that kind of response when he said something that the other person didn't want to hear. That realization made Peter angry instead of sad, but he pushed those thoughts away as best as he could.

There was an awkward silence until Peter brought the previous subject up. "Neal, if I didn't want you stay here, don't you think that I wouldn't have invited you in the first place?" Neal nodded after a second. "So maybe you should start thinking that we _want_ you here," he said softly but firmly.

Neal looked at him for several moments, then nodded, but still seemed a little unsure.

"Good. Let's get inside, then," Peter said, then turned around and opened the door. He could hear Neal follow him and was relived to know that he didn't scare the kid off.

Just like every time Peter came back home, no matter how long he had been gone, Satchmo came running in from wherever he had been to see his master with excitement that rivaled a kid on Christmas morning.

Peter reached down and gave Satchmo love and attention, then took off his coat. Peter turned back to Satchmo when he heard him let out a happy little bark. The lab was in front of Neal, sniffing the new, unfamiliar person and wagging his tail happily. Peter watched Neal for a reaction. He didn't know how Neal would react around him, but he knew that Satchmo wouldn't ever hurt him. To his relief, Neal smiled and started petting the dog.

"What's his name?" Neal asked, not looking up from the labs warm chocolate eyes.

"Satchmo," Peter answered. Just then Elizabeth appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Hey, honey," Elizabeth said happily as she walked down the steps. She gave her husband a quick kiss before turning to their guest. "You must be Neal. It's nice to meet you properly."

Peter could tell by the look in her eyes that she wanted to reach out and hug Neal until everything broken inside of him was whole again, but Peter had warned her about Neal's tendencies to flinch away from unexpected touches. He also told her about what the doctor at the center had told him. He never wanted to put the look that she had on her face when he told her that ever again.

"It's nice to officially meet you, too," he said with a wide smile.

"I set up the guest bedroom for you," Elizabeth said after a beat. "It's not much, but we'll get you whatever you need. There are some of Peter's shirts and sweatpants in the dresser. They are too small for him but he just won't throw them out."

"I'm sure whatever you have is more than enough," Neal said. "I appreciate you letting me stay with you for now. I'm sure there'll be another place for me to stay and I'll be out of your hair soon."

"You can stay here as long as you need to, sweetie," Elizabeth said, making Neal look doubtfully at her but trying not to show it. "Why don't you go check out your room?" she said after a moment.

Neal nodded and went up a few steps, but then he turned back. "Thanks for the fifty by the way. It really helped. More than you know," he said shyly, not looking at her. He seemed a little ashamed as well. He then turned back and bounded up the rest of the steps.

"Oh, Peter. He's so thin!" Elizabeth said brokenly after Neal was out of earshot.

"I know, El," Peter said sadly as he hugged his wife close, thanking his luck to have been able to grow up with a good family and food on the table without even thinking about how it got there and if there'd be another meal waiting for him tomorrow.

They broke apart after a minute. "I'm sorry I didn't give you much of a notice, but I couldn't just put him back in Juvie until I could find a place for him," Peter said.

"You don't need to apologize, Peter. It's what I would have wanted you to do," Elizabeth responded firmly.

Peter nodded. Both of them looked up when Neal came back down the stairs. "The room looks great. Thank you." He came to stand a few feet away from them, looking like he was unsure of what to do next.

Elizabeth jumped right in to fix the problem. "I bet you two are hungry after that long road trip. Why don't we go into the kitchen and get something to eat?" she suggested.

Peter nodded. "Sounds good." Peter, Elizabeth and Neal went into the kitchen, with Satchmo following happily behind.

Elizabeth got ham, sliced cheese, mayonnaise and a container from the fridge and placed them on the island. Peter got bread, chips, plates and butter knifes out of the various cabinets and placed them on the island as well.

Neal stood slightly to the side, but then made a horrified face when Peter opened the container and got a whiff of what was in it. "What _is_ that?" he asked, sounding like he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answer or not.

"Deviled ham. Want some?" Peter asked, mostly to get a reaction from Neal.

"No way," he said, shaking his head and still looking disturbed.

"Do you want a lunchmeat sandwich, then?" Elizabeth asked as she got some bread out and started spreading mayonnaise.

"Yeah. Here, let me help," Neal said as he finally came up to the counter and picked up a piece of bread and started putting mayonnaise on it. After making the sandwiches and piling some chips on their plates, the three of them sat at the dining room table and ate.

Elizabeth tried her best to hide the sadness and sympathy in her eyes as she watched Neal eat the sandwich. He ate it slower than he did the burger and cookies, but he still ate like a person that was afraid of loosing their food if they didn't eat it fast enough.

During their meal, Elizabeth talked to Neal like she had known him for years, and Neal also looked pretty comfortable chatting with El about her new client that seemed to want everything under the moon for their wedding.

Maybe this could work out, Peter thought to himself as he watched his wife and Neal laugh and joke about the neurotic bride-to-be. It would be temporary of course, but it should be interesting until they found a place for Neal to stay.

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After lunch, Peter went to the office to touch base with his boss, and Elizabeth and Neal went out to get the kid some clothes and other essentials.

Peter came back home a few hours later to find that Elizabeth had wanted to practically buy the whole mall, but Neal was reluctant to let her buy much of anything. Fortunately Elizabeth was not a woman to be deterred easily, so once she wrangled his size out of him, she went from store to store, buying shirts, jeans, boxers, socks, shoes, sleep pants and shirts for him.

Peter made a comment about bankrupting them once he saw all of the bags - not in front of Neal of course - but he was secretly happy to see that Elizabeth was treating him like his parents should have.

The rest of the day was pretty much spent in front of the TV, with Elizabeth and Peter on the couch and Neal sitting on the floor with his back leaning against the couch. Neal moaned and complained when Peter turned to the game, and apparently since Elizabeth wasn't on his side anymore, Peter ended up loosing the remote to his teenage criminal consultant and traitorous but loving wife. They ended up on some documentary about nineteenth century post-impressionist that had Peter nodding off ten minutes in.

Eventually, it was time for bed and the three of them made their way up stairs and to their respective rooms. Peter was a little concerned that Neal might cut his anklet and make a run for it, but he knew that he was smart enough to know that he'd have a slim chance at making it out it the city without getting caught. The smartest thing for the kid to do was to just stay put and both Peter and Neal knew it.

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Around three in the morning, Peter woke to a dull thud that sounded suspiciously like someone hitting the ground. The agents training kicked in and he was awake in an instant, reaching for his gun and checking on his wife in the same second. Elizabeth was on her side of the bed, curled up with most of the blankets and perfectly fine.

Then Peter looked to Satchmo's dog bed that was in their room because neither of them could've said no to those big, brown puppy dog eyes when he begged them to let him sleep in their room when he was a puppy. The yellow lab wasn't there.

Just then Peter heard a whine coming from the hallway. He got out of bed and rushed out the door, gun still in hand. Peter found Satchmo at the guest bedroom door, sniffing and scratching at it.

"Satchmo, what are you doing?" Peter asked, knowing he wouldn't get an answer.

Peter cautiously opened the guest bedroom door and peered inside. In the dim light coming from the window, Peter could see that Neal was sitting on the bed, holding his head in one of his hands. Blankets were on the ground around his bare feet.

Peter pet Satchmo's head, then walked into the room. Satchmo stayed outside of the room, keeping watch.

"Neal?" Peter whispered, making Neal's head snap up, eyes wide. Then he looked at the gun in Peter's hand, glistening in the moonlight coming from the window. He pushed himself back until his back hit the headboard.

"I'm sorry - I didn't mean to wake you," he said quickly, barely concealing his panic.

Peter put the gun on the nearby dresser and walked closer. "It's fine, Neal," he said quietly. Neal didn't really look like he believed him, so he continued. "I just thought that maybe someone was breaking in or something when I heard that sound."

Neal looked less afraid as he realized that Peter wasn't going to hurt him, and possibly leaving the rest of whatever dream he had behind and coming back to reality.

Peter sat down on the bed, giving Neal enough space between them. "What was that sound?"

Neal looked down and shrugged, embarrassed. "I fell out of bed, I guess."

"You guess?" Peter questioned.

"Well, I woke up on the floor with a headache."

"You hit your head?" Peter asked, a feeling close to fatherly concern welling up inside of him.

"Yeah, but I'm fine," Neal said, waving it off.

"Okay," Peter said, nodding. "Did you have a nightmare?" he asked after a minute.

Neal shrugged and didn't answer. Typical teenage response.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Peter asked, giving him a chance to talk if he wanted to, but giving him an out as well.

Neal shook his head, still not really looking at Peter.

Peter waited again before speaking up. "Do you have them often?"

That question got a different reaction out of the kid. He looked up at Peter, eyes unguarded for a second and Peter was a little taken aback by the amount of pain in those cerulean blue orbs. But then the mask was back up, a blank, indifferent look on his face. "No, not really."

Peter nodded, accepting the lie. "Okay...Well, we should get some sleep. Gotta be up early for your first day of work," he said as he got up and picked up the blankets that had fallen on the floor and put them on the bed next to Neal. Neal pulled the blankets over him and settled down in bed.

Peter went to the door, grabbing his gun on the way. He turned when he got to the door. "Get some sleep, Neal," he said quietly, then walked out into the hall, closing the door quietly behind him.

Satchmo was still in the hallway, sitting there and waiting for his master to come back. Peter pet his head. "Let's go to bed, bud," Peter said, then went to the master bedroom with Satchmo following loyally behind.

Nightmares - just what the boy needed. Peter knew he couldn't do anything to change his terrible past or the nightmares that were caused by it, but he could do something about how his future will look.

 **Neal and Peter should be working at the office to take down Keller in the next chapter.**

 **Reviews make me smile!**


	7. To Catch Another Thief

**I know it's been like three months since I've updated - please don't hate me! I got a little distracted with my other story and that other very distracting thing we call school. I hope it's worth the wait!**

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As Neal laid in the Burke's guest bed, he wondered what exactly was going on. He prided himself on being one step ahead of everyone else, but he just couldn't figure out the complexity of Peter Burke and his motives. Why did Peter bring him to his home when he could have dumped him off at some other group home or just put him back in Juvie until there was an opening somewhere better?

And why was his wife being so nice to the juvenile convict that her husband brought home? Elizabeth, who looked way too much like his mother, down to the blue eyes and dark brown hair, her actions weren't making any sense either. Why did they give him one of their beds to sleep in? Was he really that important to catching Keller, or was there something else that Peter wanted? It obviously wasn't out of the kindness of his heart. No one was that selfless - Neal learned that the hard way. So what was Peter's end game? Everyone wants something, so what did Peter want? Neal couldn't think of anything that he could give Peter except his smarts. Neal supposed that could be all the agent wanted, but why go through all the trouble of having a teenager live with him? It would have been so much easier for Peter if he just dropped Neal off at some motel or group home.

Why was Peter making such an effort to give Neal the most comfortable place to stay? Even though the Burke's house was homey and nice and maybe a place Neal secretly wanted to live at, but staying here was making Neal feel a bit like a burden to them. Peter really didn't seem to like him saying that for some reason though. That man was very hard to figure out.

Eventually Neal gave up on trying to figure out Peter's motives for the time being and fell asleep.

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"You're the reason that she's dead!" James yelled harshly, slapping his son roughly across the face. "If she wasn't going to get you that damn cake, she'd still be alive! You didn't even try to stop that bastard from killing her, did you? You just stood there while he shot her! You're a disgrace! You don't deserve to be called my son!"

Neal looked up at James from the floor where he had landed after his father had hit him, his eyes blurry with tears. The anger and hate in the older man's eyes was terrifying. He was drunk again, and that was never good news for Neal.

"You're also the reason why I'm not a cop anymore! If I hadn't been so grief-stricken over her, then I would've been able to focus on my job. You're nothing but a waste! The only reason why I keep you around is because you're a better thief than a son," James snarled, his face red with anger.

The truth of the words that his father spoke hit Neal harder than the slap he'd just received. He was a waste. He was useless. He was a sorry excuse for a son. It was his fault his mom was dead. It was his fault his father lost his job. It was always his fault. He destroyed everything good in his life.

James crouched down in front of Neal and pulled his fist back, preparing a hit that his son deserved. Neal, the coward that he was, pinched his eyes shut, not wanting to see the fist come at him.

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Neal woke with a small yelp as he fell out of bed. His head bounced off of the end table and he landed on the floor with a dull thud. He just laid there for a moment, holding his aching head and thinking of the memory-induced nightmare he had just had. He'd had nightmares often, but this was one of the worst he's had in a while. The worse one he could remember he'd had for a while was the night he left St. Louis. He had woken up screaming for his dad to let him out of the closet he had locked him in - another memory-turned-nightmare. Everyone on the bus with him had thought he was crazy. Needless to say, he had left that bus as soon as humanly possible.

Of course Neal had woken Peter up when he fell out of bed. Neal nearly had a heart attack when Peter came in with his gun. Neal couldn't figure out why Peter had brought a gun to his - no, not his, the guest - room. What was he going to do with it? Neal didn't like guns - guns didn't do anything but hurt people and rip families apart.

Neal didn't mean to make any noise and wake Peter up. He tried to say just that, to get Peter to put the gun down and not use it in whatever way he had thought of when he brought it into the bedroom with him.

But then Peter put the gun down and started talking to him in soothing tones and asking questions about why he fell out of bed and if he was okay. None of it was making any sense to Neal, but he tried not to show it. Peter wasn't mad and that was very confusing. Peter was not acting like Neal had expected him to.

Something warmed in Neal's heart at the thought of someone truly caring for him and his wellbeing. He hadn't had that since his mother died and he remembered it to be a wonderful feeling, to truly trust someone with your deepest and darkest secrets and trust them not to turn them against him. Neal tried not to be too hopeful, though, just in case Peter was conning him. Neal had had his heart broken enough times to know it was too painful to open it to someone, only for it to be ripped out of his chest and stomped on.

That warm, loved feeling may have been all Neal really wanted and needed, whether he was consciously aware of it or not, but the pain of feeling betrayed and worthless was so much worse. Neal had learned the hard way to keep people at a distance so they didn't take away any last remaining hope that he had for humanity. It was best that way - to have a guarded heart instead of a broken one. At least that was what he was telling himself.

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The next morning Peter was just stepping out of the bathroom after finishing with his shower and getting dressed, thinking it was going to be a very interesting day at the office. But when he saw Elizabeth sitting on the edge of their bed crying, he was immediately concerned. El wasn't one to cry over little things, so he knew it wasn't something trivial like her favorite TV show being canceled.

He rushed over and sat next to her, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. "What's wrong, hon? What happened?" he asked quietly as he rubbed her back soothingly.

"I saw the scars on his back," El said, her voice cracking, then sobbed for a moment before continuing. "I didn't mean to, but his door was cracked and I was just walking by his room." She put her head on Peter's shoulder and cried some more.

"Oh, honey," Peter said as his eyes pricked a little from the news and seeing his wife cry. He had heard that Neal had scars from the doctor at the center, but he hadn't actually seen them himself.

"I-I think some of them are from cigars or something." She looked at Peter, confusion and deep sadness in her beautiful blue eyes. "Peter, why would someone do that to the poor boy?" she whispered brokenly.

Peter wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her closer. "I don't know, El. I don't know," he whispered into her hair, not sure what else to say. Peter didn't know what would cause a person to do something so cruel to another human being, but he did know at no one ever deserved that kind of treatment, especially not Neal. The kid had definitely been dealt one hell of an unfair hand.

Peter's father hadn't even spanked him when he did something wrong - he just grounded him for obscenely long amounts of time, making him miss out on some of the best parties of the year and far too many dates. Peter couldn't even imagine his father being aggressive towards him. He just wasn't that kind of man.

"We have him now. We won't let him get hurt again," Peter said as Elizabeth continued to cry. She calmed down after a few minutes of soft-whispered words, much to Peter's relief. He hated to see her cry. He had gotten a lot better at making her feel better when she he was upset, but seeing her upset in the first place hurt him.

A few minutes later, Peter walked down the stairs and saw Neal in the living room, dressed and looking ready to go. He was wearing dark slacks and matching jacket as well as a light blue button-down shirt that was the same color as his eyes. His hair was combed back more than usual and it made him look a little older than he really was. Peter guessed that that was what he was going for - if he looked more mature then maybe people would take him more seriously.

"Ready for your first day of work?" Peter asked a little teasingly.

"Yep," he said cheerfully, smiling.

Something about that smile had Peter nervous, but he didn't know why. Mentally shrugging off the uneasy feeling, Peter grabbed his keys from the table by the door, then realized that his wallet wasn't where he had put it yesterday. Without having to think about it, Peter turned to Neal and gave him a stern look. "Where's my wallet, Neal?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Peter," Neal said, wide-eyed and innocent looking to the untrained eye. "Did you check your jacket? A lot of people tend to accidentally leave it there."

"Of course I checked my jacket," Peter scoffed, but checked anyway. Peter scowled at Neal when he felt the leather billfold in his left breast pocket.

"I wasn't even wearing this jacket yesterday, so how do you think it got in there, Neal?" Peter asked, playing stupid.

Neal shrugged. "I have no idea. It's your wallet - why are you asking me?"

"Right," Peter drawled. He opened up his wallet to see if the kid had taken any of the money that was in it. All of it was in there, much to the agents surprise. No harm done, Peter supposed. He'd just have to watch for the kids sticky fingers in the future.

"We're heading out, El," he called to Elizabeth, who was in the kitchen.

She came over to them and kissed Peter goodbye with a "love you, hon," that was returned with the same sincerity. She turned to Neal then. "Good luck, Neal. You'll do great," she said, reaching out and giving his arm a little squeeze. The kid didn't flinch or even stiffen, which confused Peter a little. Neal hadn't reacted negatively to a woman's touch yet, so that gave Peter reason to think that Neal's previous abuser was a male, probably the kids father, which enraged Peter. No one should ever have to be afraid of one of their own parents.

Elizabeth went back into the kitchen and left the two boys alone. "Let's go," Peter said, then started walking towards the door, but turned when he saw Neal go the wrong way.

Neal grabbed a black fedora that hadn't been there before from the coat rack and did some fancy flip then plopped it on his head with practiced ease. He then tilted it to the side in a jauntily manner and smiled widely at Peter from under the rim, looking quite proud of his little trick.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked. "Where did that even come from?"

"Putting on a hat...And the store," Neal said slowly, like it was obvious, which it kind of was. He shrugged. "Elizabeth saw that I was looking at it and bought it before I could protest."

Peter shook his head. "It looks ridiculous."

"I'm sorry, Peter, but you're a little fashionably impaired," Neal said, then looked Peter up and down. "Of course that suit told me that the first time you wore it."

Peter looked down at himself. His suit looked fine. "Classics never go out of style," he said, sounding a little annoyed.

"Some do, Peter. Some do," Neal said, still looking at Peter's suit.

"Let's just go," Peter said, sighing.

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All eyes were on Neal and Peter when they walked through the glass doors of the White Collar division. That was of course until Peter gave them a 'look away or you will be on mortgage fraud cases for a month' stare. Everyone immediately went back to whatever they were doing before the two made it halfway across the bullpen. Peter didn't want to feel like an attraction for the other agents to ogle at.

Hughes was on the upper level, watching them come in. He gave Neal and Peter the double-finger point. Neal looked a little worryingly at Peter, but Peter gave him a reassuring nod, then walked towards the short set of stairs, Neal following behind.

Hughes had retreated to his office and left the door open, so Peter entered only after a quick knock, Neal still following behind.

"Burke, Caffrey. Come in," Hughes said as they walked in. Peter sat down in one of the chairs in front of Hughes' desk. Neal hesitated for a moment before sitting down in the chair next to Peter's.

Hughes turned his sharp gaze to Neal. "Burke believes that you can help us catch Keller," he said to Neal, doubt easily heard in his voice.

"Agent Burke is very astute, sir," Neal said with a smile.

Hughes looked at Peter, then back to Neal. "That's why I'm giving you a chance here. If any other one of my agents came to me and said that he wanted to let a kid out of Juvie and have him work with us, then I would have laughed in their face...But since Burke seems to really believe that you can help, I'm giving you this one chance. But if you screw it up, you're back to Juvie."

Neal's smile faltered a little near the end of Hughes' speech, but then an honest, open look came across his face. "I won't let you or Agent Burke down, sir." Peter couldn't even tell if the kid was telling the truth or not - he was damn good at being a conman.

Hughes nodded briskly. "Good. I won't expect any less."

Peter turned to Neal. "I need to talk with Hughes for a few minutes, so why don't you wait in my office? It's right next door," Peter said.

Neal nodded, got up and left. Peter suspected that he wouldn't find Neal in his office, but didn't worry about it too much.

"Do you really think you'll be able to control him?" Hughes asked, still not trusting the kid.

"Right now, all he needs is structure and guidance. I'll give that to him," Peter said, confident that Neal wouldn't run if he had a reason to stay. Peter suspected that that was the reason that he left his last home.

The two agents talked for a few more minutes, then Peter left to find his wayward CI. As suspected, Neal was not in Peter's office like he was told to be. Peter scanned the bullpen until his eyes caught the sight of Neal shamelessly flirting with one of the new agents, his eyes sparkling and smile blinding. 'The kid'll be a heartbreaker when he's older,' Peter thought as he watched the young woman blush and look down, smiling shyly after Neal said something to her.

"Neal," Peter called from the top of the stairs. Neal turned to look at Peter, smile still in place. Peter beckoned him to come up the steps with the same double-finger point that Hughes had used. It always seemed a lot more authoritative than the lesser, single-finger point. And it definitely got results.

Neal bounded up the steps and came to stand in front of Peter. "What's up?"

"We're meeting in the conference room in a few minutes, but before then, we need to talk," Peter said, then walked into his office. Neal followed him a little cautiously, looking slightly concerned.

"Sit down," Peter said as he indicated the chair across from the one he himself just sat in.

"Should I exercise my rights?" he asked, not sitting down.

"You're not in trouble, Neal," Peter reassured.

"Then why do I feel like I've done something wrong?" Neal asked, looking skeptical.

"Have you?" Peter challenged.

"Is that a trick question? I feel like that's a trick question."

"Just sit down," Peter said, looking exasperated.

Finally, Neal obeyed. Stubborn teenager.

"I know you're new to the whole following the rules thing, but you have to remember, Neal, this isn't some game. Keller is dangerous," Peter said seriously.

"I know," Neal said, something in his eyes darkening.

Peter wasn't stupid - he had put the pieces together and they came out as something that the agent didn't want to see, but had to address. "Did Keller hurt you, Neal, when he tried to coerce you into stealing that painting?"

"Keller didn't hurt me," Neal said, his eyes looking past Peter. If Neal was telling the truth, Peter wondered how the kid had gotten hurt before he was arrested. Peter supposed that living on the streets gave someone plenty of chances to get into some rough situations.

"How did you get hurt then?" Peter asked, his voice softer than he expected it to be. Peter wasn't sure if Neal would answer, but he felt that he needed to know.

Neal looked at Peter, a strange look coming across his face. Confusion, maybe? He swallowed before answering. "Keller hired someone to strong-arm me into stealing it," he said, eyes dark again.

Anger boiled up inside of Peter. The bastard couldn't even do his own dirty-work. "Bastard," he muttered before could stop himself.

Neal smiled, the darkness gone from the his eyes now. "Watch your language, Peter," he said, amused at chastising the older man. The kid seemed to enjoy acting like Peter did a few days ago.

Peter shook his head. "You don't get to say that to me - _I'm_ the adult here," he said, his finger itching to point at Neal.

"Right," Neal drawled, sounding doubtful.

Just then, Hughes walked by, pointing at the conference room, with two fingers of course, as he passed. "Okay, let's go. They're waiting for us," Peter said, then got up and walked into the conference room with Neal.

Jones, Diana, Hughes and a few of the Harvard crew were already there. Jones had set up the TV to show a picture of Keller for everyone to see. The smirk he wore in the picture irked Peter for some reason. Neal took a seat in one of the many chairs, slouching but still managing to look attentive.

Everyone in the room had been briefed on who Neal was, so Peter dove right into explaining the case. "Mathew Keller, forger, thief, conman, smuggler and all around bad guy," Peter started, indicating the smug man behind him. "Interpol has been tracking his movements for a while now, as have we. He seems to pop up, conduct some illicit activities, then go to ground or leave the country while the heat dies down. He's smart, but with Neal's help, we have a way to catch him now, if we play things right. Any ideas?"

"I know where to find him tomorrow," Neal supplied, raising his hand a little.

"That's good, but we can't just go in and arrest him since we have nothing on him. Even if you saw him do something illegal, Neal, your testimony wouldn't hold up well in court. We need something solid to stick so we don't waste this opportunity we have."

"That seems unfair," Neal commented, then thought for a minute. "I could tell Keller that I have the painting, but I had to wait to contact him because of all the Feds snooping around."

"But Keller was the one that gave us the tip about you breaking into the museum, right?" Jones asked.

"Yes, but he doesn't know that I know," Neal said.

"What about the painting? We're not just going to let you give it to Keller," Diana said. She was smart not to trust Neal, but if the kid proved his worth Peter knew that she'd warm up to him.

"Yes, but I'm pretty sure you also have a perfect replica in your possession," Neal answered with a wide, self-satisfied smile on his face.

"It's too dangerous," Peter said, shaking his head. "He could kill you once he has the painting."

"Then I'll have to give him a reason to keep me," Neal said, like it was just that easy. "At least until you guys come rushing in at the perfect moment. That's how it happens on all of the best crime shows, right? Of course you guys don't need to cut it as close as the actors usually do. No need for pointless drama and all."

Peter shook his head. "I still don't like it."

"It's simple, Peter," Neal said. "All I have to do is get Keller to be in possession of the painting when you arrest him, right?" Reluctantly, Peter nodded. "That should be pretty easy since he wants it."

Neal must have seen the doubt that was still on Peter's face. "It'll work, Peter," Neal insisted.

Peter still didn't like the idea of using Neal as bait. It seemed wrong. "Wouldn't you do something like this if I was an agent?" Neal asked.

"Yes, but you're just a kid, Neal. And a civilian," Peter said, not liking the idea of letting Neal get that close to someone as dangerous as Keller again.

Neal didn't seem to like being called 'just a kid' even though he was, but didn't comment. "Keller won't hurt me because he needs me to get the painting." He leaned forward in his seat. "I can do this."

Peter looked around the room, hoping to find someone else with a better, safer plan. No one seemed to have anything to say. "What do you think, Hughes?" Peter asked, silently hoping that his boss would disagree with letting a kid go undercover to help arrest a known felon.

"If the kid thinks he can get the job done, then I think it's worth a shot," Hughes said. "Unless you don't think he can handle it," he added, his eyebrows raised in expectation.

Neal smiled expectantly at Peter. "Fine," Peter eventually said, "but we're doing this right. That means no risk taking and no stunts."

Neal raised his hand in surrender. "No risk taking and no stunts, promise," he said, eyes wide and looking something like innocent. Peter really hoped he wouldn't live to regret his decision.

 **WCWCWCWC**

 **Just an FYI for those that don't have an account or aren't following me, I posted another story called "The Journey Back From Hell Is A Long One.' It's a darker one, like 'Tick Tock.' I went a little 'Criminal Minds' on it, I think.**

 **I know I may not deserve a review from you guys since I haven't updated in so long, but you guys seemed to like the story, so it'd make me super happy to hear that it's still good! I'm even going to post another chapter tomorrow! And this chapter is quite a bit longer than most of the other ones. Just remember, your reviews make my day!**


	8. Motel With An M

**Thanks for all of the reviews, guys! Here is the next chapter, as promised.**

 **There's a reference to underage prostitution in this chapter, but none of that actually happens. I know it sounds kind of bad, but it turns out to just be a misunderstanding. I just wanted you guys to know since that's not what I usually write about.**

 **WCWCWCWC**

Everyone except Neal spent the rest of the day planning the sting for the next day. Being as Neal was a convict, he wasn't allowed to use the computers or read confidential files. Peter would've liked having Neal help out with some of the paperwork and stuff, but that was not going to happen for a while, if ever.

Peter had thought it was a good thing when Neal found a rubber-band ball from who knows where to entertain himself. He was wrong. Neal played with the ball for a while and Peter ignored him as long as he could, but when he started bouncing it against the wall, the sound got on Peter's nerves enough that the agent reluctantly encouraged the kids artistry skills by giving him a pen and paper. It seemed unlikely, but by the way Neal had mentioned the forgery earlier, Peter suspected that Neal may have actually made it. But if it wasn't Neal, then did Keller make it? That was a question Peter would have to ask when Keller was brought in.

Peter managed to get some more work done after that until he heard paper being folded and looked up to see Neal was making an origami swan that Peter had never taken the time to learn how to make.

Peter just sighed and tried to ignore the rustling of the paper as he got back to work. The next time Peter looked up, Neal had an entire army of origami animals strewn about the agents desk and was in the process of making another. Peter looked to the yellow lined paper that he had given Neal and saw that most of the paper had been used. Peter wondered what Neal would do once he ran out of paper.

The answer to Peter's question was given to him eight minutes later. "I'm bored," Neal said, his voice very close to a whine.

Peter looked to the digital clock on his computer and was surprised to see that it was just about lunch time. Peter pulled his wallet out of his breast pocket and took out two tens. He handed them to Neal and the agent saw the way Neal's eyes lit up at the sight of the money. The kid looked like he'd just received a gift straight from God. A kid Neal's age shouldn't have to think of money as something so special. "Here, go down to the deli down the street, get me a deviled ham sandwich and something for yourself," Peter said.

"You trust me with your money?" Neal asked, doubtful, but still put the bills in his pocket.

"As long as you bring back the change and receipt." Peter shrugged. "Besides, it's only twenty dollars," he said, then realized he said something wrong when Neal spoke.

"Only twenty-?" Neal choked out, looking quite shocked by what Peter said. He shook his head. "If I spent wisely, I could make this last for a week!"

What Neal just said told Peter, once again, that the kid in front of him was not a normal teenager. Neal obviously viewed money very differently than Peter did. Peter saw it as something that he always had, not in huge amounts, but always enough to get by. But Neal saw money as something he always wanted, needed even, but never had enough of. It wasn't a problem Neal should've had to deal with for at least a few more years.

"Well, today you get to splurge - on my dime, too," Peter said, mostly to get away from his somber thoughts.

Neal smiled at that. "Can't say no to that!" he said excitedly. He turned to leave, but Peter's voice stopped him.

"And don't even think about running. I'll know," Peter said, but without much heat, pointing at Neal's ankle.

Neal gave Peter a slightly annoyed yet amused smirk, then left.

Peter kept Neal's tracking data up on his computer while the kid was gone. Neal went to the deli, stayed there for about fifteen minutes, then came back, no detours. He came back with the receipt and change and both matched up with each other. Peter didn't know if he should've be suspicious of Neal's lack of detours and tricks or not.

Peter unwrapped his sandwich after Neal handed it to him, then scowled when he realized that he wasn't looking at a deviled ham sandwich. "This isn't what I ordered," Peter said to Neal, confused.

Neal, who, like usual, was already halfway through his sandwich, looked up when Peter spoke. He swallowed before speaking. "I know that isn't what you ordered, but I'm just trying to keep you alive long enough for you to see your fifties," he said. "Trust me, Peter, those things will kill you way before a bullet ever will."

"They're not poisonous," Peter said, annoyed at what Neal was saying about one of his favorite foods. He looked at the sandwich in his hands and saw that it was some sort of cold-cut with no vegetables and a lot of mayonnaise. Peter supposed that if a deviled ham sandwich wasn't available, then this sandwich wouldn't be such a bad thing to eat.

"Just judging by the smell, I can tell you with complete certainty that those things will be the death of you," Neal said far too seriously.

"And you want me to stick around for a while?" Peter asked, wanting to tease Neal and also curious about the answer.

"Of course, Peter!" Neal answered, his voice teasing but Peter thought he heard something else in it too. "I'd be back in Juvie if you dropped dead from the toxic substance that you call deviled ham sandwiches. They even have the the word _devil_ in it, Peter! If _that's_ not enough evidence, then I don't know if I can help you."

"It's not devil, it's devil _ed_ \- because they're deviled," Peter explained even though he figured Neal already knew.

"That's just the denial talking, Peter. You'll accept my words to be true some day, hopefully before the sandwiches kill you."

"You're being really drastic about this, you know that?"

Neal shrugged. "I'm just listening to what my nose is telling me," he said simply.

Peter shook his head then took a bite of his sandwich. When Peter finished the admittedly good sandwich, he continued to work on making sure all of the details for tomorrow's op would be right. Peter somehow kept Neal more or less entertained for a few more hours, but when the kid started humming, then just got louder and louder, Peter decided that he wasn't going to get anymore work done today.

"Well, since we can't do much else today, we might as well head out now." Peter stood up and put on his jacket. Neal followed Peter's movements, obviously excited to leave. Then Neal scooped all of the paper animals he had made into the nearby trashcan, much to Peter's confusion. They may not have been made with great paper, but the folds were crisp and precise, definitely something Neal should have been proud of and not just thrown away.

Mentally shrugging off the strange behavior, Peter grabbed his keys and phone, then turned to Neal. "Let's go home." Peter saw the way Neal's eyes lit up when he said the word 'home,' but the kid tried to hide it.

"Can we stop somewhere on the way?" Neal asked as they walked toward the elevator.

"Where?" Peter asked a little warily. Peter pressed the down button and both of them waited for the elevator to come to their floor.

"The motel that I was staying at before you arrested me. I'm not sure if my stuff will still be there, but there are a few things that I wanted to have."

"We're they obtained illegally?" Peter asked immediately.

"Define _illegal_ ," Neal said, evading the question.

"Neal," Peter said, his voice stern.

Neal sighed, looking annoyed that Peter had ruined his fun. "No, the stuff I want was not obtained illegally."

"I'm going to want to see them."

Neal sighed again. "It's just a few things I brought with me when I came here, Peter. You know, clothes, some books, colored pencils, sketch pads. Stuff like that."

"If it's all so innocuous, then why can't I see it?" Peter asked as the elevator arrived. No one was on it and Neal and Peter walked on without having to wait for anyone to leave.

"Fine, you can rifle through my stuff. Happy now?" Neal said, sounding annoyed because he didn't get his way.

"We'll see," Peter said as the elevator doors closed.

WCWCWCWC

They arrived at the motel not too long after that being as it wasn't very far away from the office. The place was musty, smelled like something Peter'd rather not identify and the few occupants that Peter had seen looked quite shady. Peter mentally cringed at the thought of Neal staying at such a desolate place. But, as sad as it was, it was a lot better than where he had been staying before that.

"Hey, Snake Eyes," the older man at the front counter said to Neal when they approached, putting down the Rubik's cube that he had been working on. He nodded to Peter. "I see you got yourself a job. As long as it pays the bills, I suppose," he said, but Peter could easily see the disgust in the man's eyes. Why the man was disgusted, Peter didn't know. What job? The man shouldn't have been able to tell that they were working together just by looking at them, right?

Neal looked back at Peter for a second, then back to the man after he realized what he meant, though Peter was still lost. "Oh, God no," Neal said, appalled at whatever the man was implying. "He's not. No, that's not-"

The man held up his hands. "Hey, I'm not here to judge. It's not my business, as long as things don't get out of hand," he said, giving Peter a stern look. Peter was definitely confused about what the man thought was going on.

"That's still not what's going on," Neal said, shaking his head adamantly.

The man shrugged. "Whatever you say," he said, doubtful. "Just remember - you break it, you buy it."

Neal looked annoyed at what the man was implying, whatever it was. "Can I just get a key for my place? I lost mine," he said, changing the subject.

"That'll cost ya fifty bucks," the man said immediately. Peter suspected that the man had ripped people off that needed a new key before.

Neal opened his mouth, probably to haggle on the price, but Peter just wanted to get Neal's stuff and get out of here as quickly as possible. The agent stepped forward and pulled out his wallet. "Here," he said as he gave the man a fifty.

The man happily took the money, gave Neal the key, then got back to his Rubik's cube.

"Thanks. I'll pay you back when I can," Neal said as they walked away.

Peter shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he said, then waited until they were out of earshot to question what exactly happened back there. "What was all that?"

Neal swallowed and kept his eyes forward. "He thought that I was bringing you back to my place to, uh, make a transaction," he said vaguely, obviously not wanting to elaborate.

It took Peter a few more seconds to put the pieces together. It made a very disturbing picture. He blamed his unpolluted mind for taking so long to figure it out. Of course, that didn't mean that Neal's mind was polluted, circumstances of his life just forced him to see the dark underbelly of the world, someone his age should never have to see. "Jesus, Neal, I'm old enough to be your father!"

"Yeah, that doesn't matter to some people," Neal said, his tone far too normal to be talking about... _that_. Peter could also see by the set in Neal's jaw that he didn't like the idea of that either.

"It's illegal!" Peter continued, horrified by the thought of anyone doing that, but especially Neal.

"There are a lot of illegal things that happen at places like this, Peter," Neal commented, his voice so accepting of the world that they lived in.

Peter shook his head, disgusted. None of this was right - Neal shouldn't know about the dark side of humanity. He should know about video games and sports and whatever kids these days were interested in. Had this kid's life ever been normal?

"I don't look like... _that_ kind of guy, do I?" Peter asked, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. He would never...but it still disturbed him that someone would think that of him.

Neal started to smile, but then he must have realized that Peter was serious. "No, Peter, you don't. But I don't think those kind of people really even have a look."

Neal stopped at the door to the room, but didn't move to open it. He looked uncomfortable as he worked up the courage to speak up. "Peter, uh, you know, I never actually did anything like that," he eventually said, looking as nervous as Peter had ever seen him.

Peter could tell that what he thought was important to Neal. "I believe you," he said sincerely.

Neal nodded, looking relieved, then opened the door. The room looked just as bleak as the rest of the place. Neal went straight to the bed and crouched down to reach under it. He pulled a red backpack out and placed it on the bed. He unzipped it and took something out and quickly pocketed it before Peter could actually see what it was. It was such a quick move that Peter had almost missed it entirely. Neal then pulled some clothes and books out of the bag. "See, nothing interesting in here."

"Should I ask you what that was?" Peter asked, his hands unconsciously going to his hips to look more authoritative.

"What it was is none of your business," he said shortly, being quite defensive all of a sudden. "It wasn't obtained illegally, so you don't have to worry about it." Neal didn't seem to actually be mad, but whatever he was hiding, it was very important to him.

Peter sighed. "Fine, as long as you're not bringing any _legally_ obtained bad things with us, then you don't have to show me," he conceded.

Neal's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "What would that be?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know, there's plenty of things someone can get that I don't want in my house."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, Neal. Is this mysterious object able to harm people?"

Neal shook his head. "Nope. It's completely harmless," he said, no hesitation in his voice. He was telling the truth.

"Fine. I guess that's all I'm going to get out of you," Peter said, resigned. He pointed at the backpack. "Is that all we're here for?"

"Yeah," Neal said, then packed everything that he had taken out of the backpack back into it. He slung one strap over his shoulder, then turned to Peter.

"Let's go home," Peter said again, watching Neal's eyes light up once again.

WCWCWCWC

 **And there's chapter eight! I don't have everything worked out for the next chapter, so don't expect it tomorrow or something. I let my inspiration lead me to where it wants me to write, so that's why I don't completely follow through with a story before going off to another one. I'll never give up on this one though, I promise you that!**


	9. Best Laid Plans

**Thanks for all of the reviews, guys!**

"I didn't think I'd be seeing your pretty face 'round here," Keller said as he walked out of the shadows and into the early morning light coming from the dirty windows of the warehouse. "Thought ya got yourself busted."

"Almost. The Feds showed up, but I managed to slip by 'em," Neal said, then shook his head, playing the stupid kid that Keller thought he was. "I still don't know why they were there."

It would have looked a little suspicious if Neal had worn a Rolex, so he was given a high-quality Timex that a normal teenager would wear. It had a GPS and one-way microphone so the Feds could listen in. Hughes had a bit of a fit when Neal said that he couldn't wear the tracking anklet to the meet with Keller. It was actually kind of funny to watch Hughes and Peter bicker back and forth like an old married couple about that. Neal was quite surprised and a little pleased to see Peter stick up for him by saying that he wouldn't run. Of course he also said that they'd have eyes in the sky, the GPS watch and some van following them so they couldn't loose him.

The watch would take two seconds to slip being as it was just a watch, and the van would probably be easy enough to loose. But the helicopter would be harder to get away from. Of course that only mattered if Neal actually wanted to get away. Which he didn't. He had a roof over his head, a warm bed and three meals a day - luxuries that would be hard to come by if he had to start all over in another city, all while being pursued by the police. No, it'd be much smarter to stay for the time being.

Keller walked over, then clapped Neal on the shoulder with feigned friendliness. "I'm sure it was probably just bad timing," he said, then tightened his grip and leaned in close, flipping his attitude like a switch. "You have balls showing up here without my painting," he whispered threateningly. Neal and Keller were the only ones around and that was both a bad thing and a good thing.

Neal laughed, trying not to show any fear. "Oh, so it's _your_ painting now?" he asked.

"It sure as hell ain't yours," Keller said, then grabbed Neal by both shoulders and turned him to look him straight in the eyes. "Where is it, kid?"

"In a safe place," Neal said vaguely, not giving into the urge to look away from Keller's unwavering stare.

Keller sighed, annoyed. He let go of Neal and walked a few steps away before turning back around. "This is how you want to play it then? Fine, what do you want?"

Neal smiled arrogantly. "Fifty percent." Neal knew if he just low-balled the deal right away, then Keller might know something was up.

Keller made a show of being shocked. " _Fifty_?" he asked incredulously. "You really _do_ have balls. That or you're just stupid."

"I like to think of myself as a risk-taker."

Keller waved a hand at Neal, swatting his words away like a pesky fly. "Yeah, whatever. Stupid or not, you're not getting fifty percent, kid."

"I did all of the leg-work - I think I'm entitled to half," Neal said, staying vague about how much he had actually participated in the heist. Peter and the other agents in the van didn't need to know that he was the one that picked which painting to steal, how to steal it, when to steal it and then painted the forgery, though Neal guessed that Peter already knew the last one, but couldn't prove it.

"Yes, but I could always call my friend back to help _persuade_ you again," Keller said, that evil glint in his eyes again.

Neal swallowed hard, but stayed calm. "Fine, twenty percent," he offered.

Keller scoffed at him. "I could pay my guy three times to get the location of the painting out of you with that much," he said arrogantly. "Besides, you wouldn't be here if you had yourself a fence to sell the painting. You just don't have the contacts that I do."

Neal sighed, looking defeated. "Fine, five percent."

Keller thought for a second, then nodded. "You have yourself a deal, kid," he said, holding out his hand.

After a moment of hesitation, Neal shook the older man's hand, knowing full-well that he wouldn't keep up his side of the bargain. Little did Keller know, Neal wasn't planning on it either.

"Now, where's the painting?" Keller asked, crossing his arms over his chest, probably in an attempt to look more intimidating. Unfortunately, it was working.

"I'm not going to take you to it," Neal said, not giving in immediately.

"You don't have much of a choice, kid," Keller said, taking a threatening step forward. "I want my painting and I'm not letting you out of my sight until I have it."

Neal stopped and pretended to think for a moment. "Fine, but we're going to have to either take a cab or go in your car, if you have one," he said.

"I got a car," Keller said, then started walking towards the exit of the warehouse, beckoning Neal to follow. Neal's mother had warned him to not get into cars with strange men, but he had to if he wanted to take Keller down.

Keller's car turned out to be a surprisingly unspectacular late model car that had a dent on the bumper and smelled a little like dirty gym socks. He wanted to stay inconspicuous, Neal figured.

Neal directed Keller to where the painting was hidden - a popular neighborhood gym. There were several people there at that time of day - that meant plenty of witnesses and a lower chance of Keller doing something risky.

Neal and Keller went to the men's locker room in the back. There were three other men in there as well, so Neal felt a little safer now that he knew they wouldn't be alone, at least for the time being.

The painting was in the same cylinder poster tube that Neal had it in the night he broke into the museum, so it wouldn't be as conspicuous as just carrying around a painting.

Neal pulled out the key for locker 203 and opened it. "Here it is," Neal said as he pulled the poster tube out.

Keller took it from Neal's hands, then walked out of the locker room. Neal followed the older man and soon they were out of the relative safety of the gym and in an alley next to the establishment. Neal didn't like the idea of being away from witnesses, but Keller would want privacy to inspect the painting.

Keller opened the poster tube and pulled out the forgery. He unrolled it carefully then examined it closely.

Keller was in possession of the painting and that was what the Feds needed to take the man down. "I'd say it was nice doing business with you, but I'd be lying," Neal said, saying the take-down phrase. The phrase was 'it was nice doing business with you,' but Neal really didn't think Keller would buy that.

"Same here, kid," Keller said, then grabbed Neal's arm when he tried to leave. "You're not going anywhere until I know this isn't a fake," he said, tightening his grip on Neal's arm for emphasis.

"The fake is hanging in the museum, Keller," Neal said blankly as he tried to pull away, but Keller kept his tight grip on Neal's arm. Shouldn't Peter and everyone else be there by now? What was taking them so long? What happened to no pointless drama?

"I won't know that for sure until I run some tests on this," Keller said, shaking the painting a little.

"You can go ahead and do that, but you don't need me for that," Neal said, trying to talk his way out now.

"I'll need you if it's fake," Keller said, that evil glint back in his eyes.

Just then, Peter and a few SWAT team members came rushing from one of the directions, guns drawn and aimed at Keller. "FBI, freeze!" Keller started going the other way, pulling Neal along with him, until Diana, Jones and more SWAT team members came from that direction. Thinking fast, Keller dropped the painting, pulled Neal in front of himself then took out a gun from the waistband of his pants and pointed it at Neal's head, all in a few quick movements.

Everyone went deathly still and silent for a second, the only noise being Neal's panicked, slightly restricted breathing. 'There is a gun to my head. I hate guns. I'm going to die,' were the only things running through Neal's head.

"Drop the gun, Keller," Peter ordered in a firm voice, his gun steady as he pointed it at Keller.

"You sold me out, you little piece of shit!" Keller yelled, pressing the barrel of the gun harder into Neal's temple and tightening the arm that was wrapped around Neal's neck. Neal winced, his breath hitching as most of his oxygen was cut off despite his efforts to pull the suffocating arm away. Neal locked his terrified eyes with Peter's worried ones, silently pleading Peter to save him. Peter had to save him, or he'd-

"There's no way out for you, Keller," Peter said, still trying to talk Keller down. "Just put the gun down and surrender."

The arm Keller had around Neal's neck was cutting off too much oxygen and Neal started to struggle when his body screamed at him to escape, to get away from the danger. Keller responded by tightening his grip, then hitting Neal over the head with the gun when he still wouldn't hold still. The world grayed and shifted as pain bursted from Neal's head, down to his neck and then back again.

There was yelling then, but the ringing in Neal's ears made it so he couldn't make anything out. His legs felt weak and suddenly the ground started to come up to meet him. Neal pinched his eyes shut and prepared himself for the painful impact to the harsh ground. But it never came.

Perplexed, Neal opened his eyes to investigate the situation and was very surprised to see Peter's face taking up all of his line of sight. Peter's lips were moving, but the ringing that was still there blocked out what he might've been saying.

Someone handed Peter something, then Peter pressed it against the back of Neal's head, right were the pain had taken residence. Neal pinched his eyes shut against the pain as his hearing slowly came back to him. "Neal?" Neal finally heard Peter say. Neal wasn't sure, but he might've responded with a groan.

"An ambulance is on its way, okay, Neal? You're going to be fine," Peter said, his voice far too loud now. Neal considered nodding, but then thought better of it. There was something like concern in his voice, but that didn't really make too much sense. Maybe Keller got away.

"Don't like guns," Neal mumbled.

Peter laughed, though Neal was pretty sure it was for his benefit. "I bet you don't," Peter said wryly. Peter had no idea how much he hated guns though, how much they had effected his life, how much they had taken from him.

It either took a long time or very little time for the ambulance to arrive. Neal wasn't sure. Paramedics were quick to get Neal onto a gurney and into the ambulance. Neal was surprised when Peter insisted on coming with them. Was it because Neal didn't have the anklet on? That made some sense, but Neal felt far too tired to think about Peter's motives any farther than that. The anklet theory it was then.

Things got a little more confusing about then, with all of the lights and questions and hands touching him. He didn't really like being touched, and he told them that - at least he thought he did - but they didn't seem to hear him or didn't care.

He thought about complaining about that and the blinding pain that had expanded from the back of his head to just about everywhere, but then there was a pinch in his arm, a warm feeling spreading across his body, then nothing.

WCWCWCWC

Peter couldn't believe that the op had gone so spectacularly wrong. It should have been a pretty simple takedown, but Neal had been held at gunpoint and could have been easily killed if he hadn't distracted Keller long enough for Jones to take down Keller while Peter grabbed Neal before he hit the ground. They got Keller, but at what cost? Peter hoped that all Neal had was just a minor concussion that bled a lot.

Neal had been conscious and more or less talking while they waited for the ambulance to arrive, but Peter's unexpected worry for Neal wouldn't go away until a doctor told him that Neal would be okay.

Speaking of which, one was coming right towards where Peter had been pacing restlessly.

"Are you here for Neal Caffrey?" the man asked. Peter nodded, his hands shaking a little as he waited for the news. "My name is Dr. Harris. Are you Neal's family?" the man asked instead of telling Peter what he needed to know.

"Yes," Peter said after only a moment of hesitation. Peter had been given paperwork to fill out, but the agent had no idea if Neal had any previous surgeries or if his family had any history of illnesses. He didn't even know if the kid was allergic to something. Peter even doubted the name he put down was real. The kid was a complete mystery to Peter, but he was probably the closest thing Neal had to family.

Dr. Harris suddenly gave Peter a not-quite-glare that Peter felt he didn't deserve. Peter had no idea why the doctor seemed angry all of a sudden - he hadn't done anything wrong. Did he not believe Peter when he said that he was family?

"Is he going to be okay?" Peter asked when he couldn't handle the strange silence anymore, idly wondering when Neal's wellbeing had become so important to him.

The doctor nodded, still acting a little hostile. "He'll have headaches and some dizziness for a while, but he should be fine after a week or so of taking it easy. He has a concussion, but no swelling to the brain, which is quite fortunate. He should be able to leave after a night of observation."

Peter released the breath that he had been holding. Neal was going to be okay. The need to know that was all that seemed to have mattered for the last two hours. Peter told himself the reason why he was concerned about Neal's health was because there would be a lot of paperwork, but just as he thought it he knew that that wasn't the real reason.

The doctor was still standing in front of Peter though, like he had something else to say. "Is there something else?" Peter asked, worried again.

"There's a concerning amount of scars on Mr. Caffrey's back as well as faded bruises on his abdomen. Do you have any explanation as to how they got there?" the doctor asked, his not-quite-glare still intact.

Now Peter finally got it - the doctor thought that maybe Peter was responsible for Neal's injuries and scars. The thought made Peter feel a little sick. "I can assure you that I had nothing to do with those," Peter said, but the doctor still didn't look convinced.

"Look, long story short, Neal ran away, probably from the person that gave him those scars, and I arrested him after he broke the law. I'm an FBI agent," Peter said, showing the doctor his badge, hoping that he'd trust an officer of the law. "But now he's working with me and he even helped capture a criminal today. That's the reason he has a concussion. Those scars were there long before I even met him."

The doctors eyes softened as Peter explained. "I'm sorry, I've just seen a few too many injuries like the ones that Neal has. I hate to send a kid back to the place that he'd got them," he said, his voice filled with restrained anger.

Peter nodded. "I understand," Peter said, thinking that there needed to be more people like Dr. Harris in the world. He waited a moment before he spoke up again. "Can I see him?"

Dr. Harris nodded. "Yes. He's in room 231. It's down the hall and to the left," he said, pointing that direction. "He may be asleep though, so try not to disturb him if he is. Rest is the best thing for him right now."

"Thank you," Peter said, then followed the doctors directions until he found the right room. Peter didn't want to disturb Neal if he was asleep, so he didn't knock before entering.

Neal actually was awake, but didn't seem to have noticed that someone came in. He was laying on the only bed in the room, leaning against a stack of pillows and a photo was in his hands. Peter could see from his angle that it was a picture of a younger, more innocent Neal blowing out candles on a cake with a woman behind him. Neal looked at the picture with a mixture of sadness and love that led Peter to believe that the woman in the picture was Neal's mother - she definitely looked like she could've been related to him.

Somehow sensing that someone else was in the room, Neal suddenly turned his head. Upon seeing it was Peter, he quickly hid the picture under the blanket that was covering his legs. "Peter, hey," Neal said, trying to act like he wasn't just doing something. The kid looked tired and in some pain, but not nearly as much as he did laying on Peter's legs in that alley, bleeding and freaking Peter out a little.

"Hey," Peter said, playing along. There was a silence as Neal looked down at his hands as they picked at the blanket covering him while Peter stood next to the bed, trying decide if he should bring up the photo or not. Eventually, he decided to. "Was that your mom?" Peter asked softly.

Neal nodded silently, not looking at Peter.

"She's beautiful," Peter commented, telling the truth. She actually looked a lot like Elizabeth.

"Yeah, she was," Neal said softly, using the past tense.

Peter shifted from foot to foot as he tried to think of what else to say. "They're going to want you to stay the night to make sure there aren't any complications or anything, but you should be fine," he eventually said, changing the subject. Peter figured that Neal's doctor had already told him that, but he couldn't think of anything else to say to fill the silence.

Neal finally looked at Peter, but there was a hint of apprehension in his eyes. "I don't need to stay - I'm fine," Neal said a little quickly.

"How about we listen to what the doctors are telling us, okay? They're the ones with the MD's."

"I told them that I didn't want to stay, but they said my legal guardian would have to sign me out before I could leave," Neal said, then hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Would you be considered my legal guardian?" There was something in Neal's eyes that Peter couldn't quite identify. Hope, maybe? Did Neal want Peter to be his legal guardian?

Peter thought about Neal's question for a moment. He had power of attorney over Neal's medical decisions - that had been decided when he was let out of Juvie - so he would be able to sign Neal out AMA - not that he would. "I guess that could be one way to put our unlikely partnership," Peter allowed. Neal looked so hopeful now that it was hard for Peter to finish what he was saying. "But I'm not signing you out AMA. You're staying here until the doctors say it's okay to leave."

Neal seemed to deflate then, no longer bothering to keep up the act that he was just fine. He rubbed a hand over his face, careful of the IV in the back of his hand, then looked back to Peter. "Did we get him? Keller?" he asked hopefully after a thought apparently came to him.

Peter nodded. "Yep. You did a good job, Neal," he said, putting enough seriousness into his voice to let Neal know that he was telling the truth.

Neal looked up, surprised by the compliment. A tentative yet warm smile appeared on his face when he realized that Peter meant what he said. He obviously wasn't used to getting compliments.

Neal then looked down at the hospital gown he was wearing with some disgust, then looked back up at Peter. "Uh, is it possible for you to bring me a change of clothes to wear tomorrow?" he asked a little hesitantly.

"Elizabeth is bringing you something to wear." Elizabeth had been quite worried when Peter had called to tell her what had happened. Peter wouldn't have usually bugged her at work, but she insisted that Peter told her how the arrest went as soon as he could. Elizabeth was already getting attached to Neal, but Peter needed to make sure that she knew that he wasn't a stray and they couldn't keep him. He was just going to stay with them until there was an opening at a good group home.

Neal looked at Peter, brow furrowed. "Elizabeth is coming? Why?" he asked, honestly confused.

"I wouldn't have been able to stop her if I wanted to," Peter said fondly. Neal still didn't seem to understand why Elizabeth was coming. "When she heard that you got hurt, she canceled the rest of her appointments and went home to get you a few things. She should be here soon."

Neal still seemed quite confused about Elizabeth's affection towards him. Peter would have talked about it more, but it was obvious that the kid was struggling to keep his eyes open. "Why don't you rest until she gets here?" Peter suggested.

Neal nodded, then sunk farther down in the bed. His breathing evened out and his face relaxed into a look of peace before too long, all of his masks and pain gone. Peter imagined that this was the face Neal would have had if life hadn't been so harsh on him.

With one last look at Neal's peaceful, unguarded face, Peter left the room to meet up with his wife when she arrived.

 **If you guys like this story, then you should check out my other stories! That and reviews would make me smile!**


	10. Damaged But Salvageable Goods

**I know it's been too long since I've updated anything, but finals and sickness - three colds in the last two months - has kept me busy. And I also had a little trouble with inspiration as well. I have some of the next chapter written up and have an idea where it's going, but it will definitely not be the last chapter. I still have a curve ball or two to throw your guys' way! And sorry about this chapter being on the short side, but that's just how it ended up.**

After visiting with Neal for a while, where Elizabeth pampered a mildly bewildered Neal, Peter and Elizabeth went home for the night. Peter had put the anklet back on Neal, so the agent was pretty confident that the kid wouldn't disappear in the night. Neal had helped take down Keller, so his chances of staying out of Juvie was much better than the night before, and he didn't run then.

Once the couple was home, Peter got a call from Hughes about the verdict on the expected duration of Neal's release. Because of Keller's arrest, the higher-ups believed that Neal would be able to help them with other cases that might come Peter's way. Then Hughes started in with a long lecture about keeping an eye on the very young and clever juvenile delinquent. That took a while, but Peter was willing to sit there and take it if it meant Neal would be able to stay out of Juvie. Peter was still a little confused as to why he cared for the teen con so much.

As husband and wife laid next to each other in their bed that night, they talked in length about Neal's future with them. Peter had called some group homes earlier in the day, but with no luck. Neal was going to have to stay with them until there was an opening. Neither Peter nor Elizabeth were willing to dump Neal off at a group home with a bad reputation. The kid just didn't deserve it, no matter what crimes he had committed to put food on the table.

Peter and Elizabeth picked Neal up the next day, making a slight detour to the FBI office first, then went back to their townhouse after swinging by the pharmacy to fill out Neal's prescriptions for painkillers. Neal looked quite tired and Peter could tell that his head was hurting more than he was letting on, but didn't seem to want to show any kind of weakness in front of others. At least he took the pain medication that Elizabeth had given him.

Once Neal and Elizabeth were settled down on the couch and Peter on the armchair that had been moved closer to the couch since there was a third - temporary - member of the household, Peter got down to business. "Hughes call yesterday," Peter started, his voice serious.

Neal looked at Peter with some concern. "Did they make a decision?" he asked with clear apprehension of what the answer might be.

Peter pulled an ID that had Neal's name and picture on it out of his pocket and held it up. "Figured if we didn't, you'd end up making one of these on your own," he said wryly. The wide, ecstatic smile on Neal's face was priceless and his joyful laugh was musical.

Neal took the ID in his hands and examined it. "I'm official!" he said happily, still laughing lightly.

"You're a consultant," Peter corrected. "And you're going to be working with me, with the FBI, for two years. Until you're an adult. You okay with that?"

Neal finally tore his gaze away from the ID. "Yeah," he said, nodding and still smiling.

Elizabeth spoke up then. "There's something else that we wanted to talk to you about."

Neal's smile faltered, apparently hearing the metaphorical 'but' to the deal.

"I've called around to a few group homes, but they're all still full," Peter said, continuing Elizabeth's explanation.

"You're sending me back?" Neal asked, very upset all of a sudden. Peter could easily see the hurt and betrayal on his face as he assumed that Peter was giving up on him. "What about being a consultant? Are you going to drive to Juvie every time you want my help? Why the hell did you give me this then?" he asked as he shook the ID he had been looking at with awe moments before.

"Peter's not sending you back, sweetie," Elizabeth said when Peter couldn't seem to get any words out. He didn't understand how everything turned around so fast.

"Then where am I going?" Neal asked, looking a little lost and possibly scared.

"You're going to stay with us for a little while longer. You're not going anywhere," Elizabeth explained.

Neal leaned back against the back of the couch as Elizabeth's words sunk in. "Oh," he said after a moment. He looked down at his ID sheepishly. "Sorry. I...I just thought that you were taunting me or something."

"We'd never do that to you, Neal," Elizabeth said. Peter could see that she wanted to wrap her arms around him, but both of them still needed to be careful of when to touch him.

"So what were you going to say then?" Neal asked after a moment.

Peter leaned forward a little in his seat. "El and I have been talking, and since you'll be staying with us for the foreseeable future, we decided that you should go back to school," he said, trying to sound upbeat as well as authoritative.

"Why?" Neal asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Because you need to be going to school, honey," Elizabeth said.

"Who's going to pay for it?"

'Of course that would be one of the first things to come to Neal's mind,' Peter thought to himself. "Don't worry about that," Peter said aloud, trying to get Neal's mind off of how much something would cost for once.

Neal didn't seem to want to listen to Peter, though that wasn't too surprising to the agent. "I can't let you pay for that. You've already used way more money on me than I deserve," Neal said, apparently actually believing that he was only worth so much money.

Elizabeth looked shocked by what Neal said and opened her mouth to protest, but Peter beat her to it. "So you'll pay for it then? With what money?" he challenged.

"I'll get a job," Neal said decisively, crossing his arms.

"You already _have_ a job," Peter deadpanned.

"I'll get one that pays," Neal said with a little annoyance.

"You can't get a job when you already have one and are planning to go to school, Neal. There isn't enough time in the day," Peter said, trying to get the kid to listen to reason.

"Then I won't go to school," Neal said simply, smiling like he got his way.

Peter sighed and looked for Elizabeth for help. When he agreed to this deal with Neal, he didn't think he'd actually have to raise a teenager, and a stubborn - and smart - one at that.

Seeing the desperation in her husbands eyes, Elizabeth stepped up to help. "How about this - we'll pay for your schooling and you can pay us back by doing chores around the house," she offered, and Peter actually thought that Neal would accept, but then he shook his head.

"That wouldn't be enough," he argued.

"Your work at the FBI is more than enough to equal what schooling will cost, Neal, even if you're not payed," Peter said, not lying at all.

Neal thought about that for a moment, apparently trying to find another reason to get out of going to school. "I'm too far behind anyway, so I don't know why we're even talking about this," he said a little sadly, looking down at his ID again.

"When did you drop out?" Elizabeth asked kindly.

"About a half a year ago," he said quietly, eyes downcast, apparently ashamed of the fact.

Elizabeth probably expected much longer given the amount of shame Neal was showing. "Well, that's not too long. And you're smart, so I know you'll catch up in no time," she said happily. She looked to Peter to back up what she just said.

"She's right, Neal. You'll be passing up the other kids before you know it. You might even be placed right where someone your age should be," Peter said to a doubtful Neal.

Neal sighed, obviously not happy about this plan. "Fine, but don't be surprised if I don't test well," he warned.

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Peter said truthfully. The kid was smart, unfortunately he had to use his smarts to get money the illegal way instead of being able to be a normal kid.

Peter and Elizabeth had decided on a school not too far away from where they lived. Peter took Neal there a week later to take the placement tests. Peter knew it'd take a few hours, so he brought some paperwork and case files to look at while he waited.

Neal had been doubtful about how well he had done, but two days later a letter in the mail informed them that Neal would be able to start at the right grade for his age. He scored very high on the math and history tests, but his chemistry and biology scores were on the low side, probably due to being a half a year behind. The school was still confident that Neal would be able to catch up in no time given his high scores on the other tests.

Neal started going to school the next week and husband, wife and teen con soon fell into a comfortable rhythm. Elizabeth took Neal to school on her way to work, then Peter would pick him up afterwards to either go to the bureau or work on case files from home. Neal was very helpful with giving Elizabeth ideas for some of her events, and apparently he was a pretty good cook as well. The two were bonding a lot over making delicious meals and planning events. Peter had bonded with Neal as well, but in a different way.

Neal's grades were really good and he was also helping a lot with cases at the FBI as well as doing some chores around the house, something he apparently felt he needed to do to earn his keep. He hadn't gone undercover since the Keller incident, something that he had complained about, but Peter was not willing to let Neal risk his neck like that for a while, if ever again. His presence had not been necessary for a takedown yet, so Peter saw no point to let him out in the field. He was a teenager anyway - he shouldn't be running around with felons and risking getting shot if it wasn't necessary.

Neal's distaste for guns and his willingness to go undercover seemed to contradict each other. The kid really didn't seem to like guns or violence of any kind, but he always wanted out in the field if it meant getting out of the 'boring' office or 'stuffy and smelly' van, as the teen had put it. He was just a kid, so it made sense that adult work didn't entertain him much, but Peter still wouldn't let him go undercover, at least not yet.

Most of the other agents were wary and unsure of Neal helping them, but Diana and Jones welcomed Neal to their team like he was an adult and went to Quantico, at least for the most part. They were still aware of his thieving and conning tendencies, but they still turned to him for answers and help with tough cases.

He was integrating himself into Peter's team and, inadvertently, into his life. Peter hadn't even called any group homes for a couple of weeks to see if there were any openings. He had been making the excuse that he had been busy, but if he was honest with himself, Peter didn't want to see Neal go. Oh, the kid was a pain in the butt on his best days, but he was also smart, had a good heart and seemed to honestly look up to Peter and Elizabeth, almost like they were becoming his foster parents. Elizabeth had hinted at Neal staying with them permanently a few times, but Peter hadn't risen to the bait. There had to be one reasonable adult to make the decision that Neal was only staying with them on a temporary basis. At least that was what Peter was telling himself.

 **I pretty much know where I'm going with this story, but I'm not so sure about my other one, 'The Journey Back From Hell Is A Long One.' I know there are quite a few people that read both stories, so I know I can ask for help on this story. It would be highly appreciated. I'll also take any ideas you guys might have for other stories. Anything from a random scene to a whole plot would be accepted. I won't, however, do slash, non-con or death fics. I definitely prefer Neal whump, but I'm open to other ideas as well if they're within my guidelines. Thanks for the support, guys! It makes me smile!**


	11. (Not So) Typical Teenager

**It's been too long, I know! Holidays are a hectic time of the year. I hope you all had a great time with you friends and family celebrating and had a great year. My year was not the best, but Christmas was great and a new year is almost here - a good time to start over. Anyway, here's the story!**

It was scary, but Neal kind of felt like he was starting to belong somewhere again. He wanted to embrace the feeling, take it in for all that it was worth, but he was afraid of what might happen if he did. He could have read the signs wrong and his father was right - he really wasn't someone that anyone wanted, he didn't belong anywhere. What would Peter and Elizabeth do if they knew everything that he had done to survive? Would they just send him back to Juvie and never look back? Or would they understand that he was just trying to make it through his harsh life the only way he knew how? Neal was too afraid to find out to ever tell them anything.

Peter was an FBI agent and if he knew about how many crimes Neal had committed he would most likely send him back to Juvie. Why would anyone even want a criminal in their home anyway? It didn't make sense to Neal, but there must have been some sort of reason. He just hoped that that reason wouldn't go away. He desperately wanted to belong somewhere again, but would anyone want him if they knew who he really was? Would the Burkes? It was unlikely.

It hadn't escaped Neal's notice that Peter was a big guy, bigger than Neal's father and much bigger than Neal himself, and he could easily hurt Neal if he wanted to. Neal wanted to think that Peter wouldn't lash out and hurt him if he did something stupid enough to warrant that much anger, but his instincts - instincts that had been literally beat into him - told him that he should be wary of the strong agent. Peter had never hurt him, he even went out of his way not to touch Neal, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't throw a punch if Neal screwed up enough. Neal's father hadn't beat him until his wife passed away. Everyone had their breaking point when their tolerance for Neal's mess ups were tested too much. The question was what Peter's breaking point would be. Would it be if he gave them the wrong intel on accident and caused a criminal to escape? If an agent got hurt because of him? If he got an F at school? Or got in a fight? Maybe stayed out past his curfew? Left his two-mile radius? Those would have been reasons his father would have beat him.

Neal knew that it was his fault his mother died - he had been too scared and cowardly to do anything when that man had pointed a gun at her. He also knew it was his fault that his father had lost his job being a cop - the man hadn't been able to focus on anything besides his grief. If Neal hadn't been so weak three years ago then his mother would still be alive and they'd all still be a family. Neal's father had always been hostile toward Neal by yelling at him when he screwed up, but he never threw any punches until Neal's mother died. He didn't really deserve it until then. Things were better then. Not great, but better. Neal knew he was a screw-up, but if he could keep that hidden from the Burkes then they just might want to keep him. At least that was what he was dreaming for.

WCWCWCWC

Peter was _not_ happy. His day started out with him accidentally spilling hot coffee on his favorite tie, then two of his agents got into a heated argument about who was the one that connected the dots and found out where a suspect was hiding out. After that was squared away, while taking down said suspect later in the day, Peter soaked his new shoes in a muddy puddle that looked more like a small pond than anything. Then when he was in the middle of getting the same suspect to admit to the pump-and-dump scam that he had going, a probie came into the interrogation room to inform him that Neal had gotten into a fight at school.

Peter swore, the kid couldn't be let alone for five minutes without getting into trouble.

After driving back to Brooklyn to the school, Peter stalked around the building, navigating himself around teenage kids on their way to and from class, until he found the principals office. He could have used the app on his phone to figure out where Neal was - a benefit of having a tracking anklet attached to his troublesome ward - but he decided to find it himself.

Sitting a few seats apart from each other outside the office was Neal and another, much larger jock looking kid. From the quick glance Peter gave them, he saw that Neal had a few bruises on his face while the other kid didn't seem at all hurt. What had Neal done to get on that kids bad side?

Ignoring Neal's pleading blue eyes, Peter went into the principals office to talk to the principal. The snooty looking man informed him that Neal and a kid named Josh got into a fight, but neither would tell why. After the principal told Peter that Neal would be let off with a warning and Peter said that he was going to bring Neal home early, the agent left the office to see that Neal was still there, but the other kid was gone.

"Where's the kid that was sitting with you? Josh?" Peter asked, anger and annoyance seeping into his words.

Neal had looked up at Peter when he came out, but lowered his gaze after the agent spoke, guilt written all over his bruised face. "His dad picked him up," he said softly.

Peter wiped a hand down his face as he wondered what he had gotten himself into. He was originally supposed to be keeping the teenage con in line while he consulted with the FBI, but now it seemed like he was raising the kid."Let's go," he said after a minute, beckoning Neal to follow him as he started walking down the locker-walled hallway.

Neal took longer to catch up to Peter than he expected, but the agent didn't slow down. Peter didn't speak or look at Neal until they were in the Taurus.

When Peter got behind the wheel of his car, he got a good look at the kid. He could see that Neal had bruises forming around his left eye and there was some dried blood under his nose as well as on his chin from his split lip. It looked like he had gotten into quite the fight, but that didn't simmer Peter's anger enough not to yell at the kid.

"Why the hell did you get into a fight with that kid, Neal?" Peter asked, trying to think of the reasons he had gotten into fights when he was a teenager - it seemed so long ago. Peter had only gotten into one fight when he was younger - one that only involved a shove and two punches, much less than what appeared to have happened with Neal and that josh kid - and it was over a girl. 'Please don't let this be over a girl,' Peter thought exasperatedly. Neal did _not_ need that kind of drama in his life right now.

Neal tensed at Peter's harsh tone, but the agent ignored it. "Nothing, Peter. Just some stupid teenager stuff," he mumbled dismissively, obviously not wanting to tell Peter.

"I don't want a bullshit answer, I want the truth. Now spill it," Peter said, getting even more annoyed.

Neal sighed, then started explaining. "Josh started a rumor that I was arrested for murder and got a light sentence because you're my stepdad or something. Now everyone thinks I'm some sort of dangerous criminal that shouldn't be allowed to be in school. I think it started out as a joke, but it only escalated. And it never got physical until today," he added, almost sounding like he was defending the other kid.

Some of Peter's anger was aimed towards someone else at the mention of Neal's status effecting him at school. "This was because of the anklet?" Peter asked, a little angrier than he meant to.

Neal nodded, the action slightly timid, as he stared at his lap, his body still tense.

Peter both hated and liked the tracking anklet - he hated it because it seemed wrong to confine a teenager, thief or not, it such a way, like he was an animal or something, and he liked it because he always knew where Neal was and if he knew where he was, he would always be able to bring him home.

"What happened?" Peter asked, his voice softer than before.

"He cornered me after class and just started pounding on me. He said that he was trying to protect the other kids by scaring me away, but I think he just wanted a punching bag...He has some problems at home," he explained, sounding sympathetic. Trust Neal to psychoanalyze the kid that was beating on him.

"You didn't even start the fight or throw a punch?" Peter asked, making sure he had heard right. It didn't sound like the fight was at all Neal's fault. Peter suddenly felt bad for rushing to the conclusion that Neal had been somehow at fault.

Neal shook his head. "He took me by surprise and I couldn't get him off of me," he said, sounding like he was defending himself a little.

The fight hadn't even been Neal's fault and Peter had yelled at him before he had been given a chance to tell him his story. Peter had been grumpy from his bad day, but that was no excuse to be angry at Neal. Only then did Peter notice the arm that Neal had wrapped protectively around his abdomen, and he was still tense, like he was waiting for Peter to yell at him more. Or maybe something worse. Peter had never even thought about hurting Neal, but it seemed that Neal still thought that he might if he crossed a line. Neal's previous experience with his former abuser obviously made an impression on how he expected others to act.

"How badly did he hurt you?" Peter asked, a lot more worried than he was a few seconds ago.

"I've had worse," Neal said vaguely, waving it off like it was nothing.

"That doesn't really reassure me, Neal," Peter replied, not really wanting to think of how bad ' _worse_ ' had been.

"Nothing's broken, if that's what you're wondering," Neal said, his voice a little edgy.

"I was wondering if you were okay," Peter said, his voice soft and caring.

Neal looked at Peter for a minute, his expression of masked confusion, before turning his gaze back to his lap. "I'm fine," he said quietly.

Peter sighed, accepting the answer for the time being. "How long have the other kids been picking on you about the anklet?" Peter asked after a thought came to him, feeling guilty for not even thinking about how the anklet would affect Neal at school. Peter had discussed Neal's situation with the administrator of the school before Neal even took his placement tests. The man had been fine with Neal going to his school once he found out that the kid was non-violent. But apparently the kids there thought that Neal was violent, which was _not_ acceptable.

Neal shrugged as he looked down, his wavy brown hair covering his eyes and looking so much like the troublesome teenager that Peter some times forgot he was. "Josh started the rumor a few weeks ago, but it's really not that big of a deal, Peter," he said, trying to make light of a serious situation. Neal had been dealing with kids thinking that he was a killer for weeks, and he still thought that it didn't need to be stopped?

"It's a big deal if you're being bullied," Peter said seriously.

"I'm not being bullied," Neal said, anger showing in his voice for the first time. Apparently the kid didn't like the word.

"Whatever you'd like to call it, it's going to stop," Peter said, determined to fix the situation.

"How?" Neal asked, doubt clear in his voice.

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He really didn't have a plan to fix this yet. "I don't know how to yet, but we're going to figure this out, okay? You shouldn't be treated this way," Peter eventually said, no longer angry at Neal. "You should have told me sooner," he said after a moment.

"I can fight my own battles, Peter," Neal said, repeating what he said not so long ago in Juvie. Apparently the kid really thought he could handle the situation, and any others that might come up, himself.

"You don't have to, Neal. Not anymore," Peter said quietly, seriously, looking Neal in the eyes. It was the same thing that Peter had said then as well, but this time he could really do something to help Neal.

"So...you're not mad at me?" Neal asked, his voice doubtful and hopeful at the same time.

Peter shook his head. "No, Neal. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I've just had a bit of a tough day."

Neal had that strange, surprised look on his face again, like he had never heard an apology before. He always had the same look when he was given a compliment as well, like when Elizabeth saw a picture of sunflowers in a vase that Neal had drawn on the blank part of a 515 form one day. Neal had belittled his talent and threw the drawing away before Peter could see it. Elizabeth had asked Neal if he wanted to sign up for an art class, but he declined and changed the subject quickly. That look always made Peter want to hug the kid, but he still was a little wary of touches, though not really from Elizabeth. Peter's anger towards the man that had caused that re-ignited every time he accidentally got too close to Neal and that nearly-scared look appeared on his face.

Neal must have felt a little uneasy under Peter's gaze because he tried to lighten the mood a little. "The work of an FBI agent never ends," he joked, a slightly uneasy smile on his face.

"Unfortunately not," Peter muttered, playing along. Neal's smile relaxed into something more real, letting Peter know that he could relax as well.

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Neal and Peter were sitting at either side of the dining room table, working over their current case, when Elizabeth got home. "We're in hear, hon," Peter called when he heard the front door open and close, knowing she'd easily be able to place were his voice came from.

After taking off her coat and scarf, she walked into the dining room to see them. "Hey, boys. How was your-" Elizabeth immediately stopped short when she saw the state of Neal's face. "Oh my god, Neal! What happened, sweetie?" she asked as she rushed over to Neal, cupping his face delicately and looking closely at the bruises.

Neal opened his mouth, probably to play down his injuries, but Peter beat him to it. "He got into a fight at school - one that wasn't at all his fault," Peter added, wanting to make sure Elizabeth knew that Neal didn't do anything to provoke the kid that hurt him.

The wrinkle of concern between her eyes deepened. "Oh, sweetie. Lets get some ice for your eye," she said, making Peter feel a little stupid for not thinking of that.

Neal was guided towards the kitchen by Elizabeth, his expression a little confused by her concern. Even after more than a month, the kid still didn't seem to understand that both Peter and Elizabeth cared deeply for him. Wasn't it obvious by now?

Over Neal's shoulder, Elizabeth gave Peter a look that told him that they'd talk about this in length later.

With an ice pack covering his left eye - the old-fashioned kind, white with little blue stars on it - Neal came back into the dining room with Elizabeth, where Peter was cleaning up the papers that were scattered all over the table. Now that Elizabeth was home, they were done with work for the day.

"I was thinking that we'd order some take-out tonight. How's that sound?" Peter said as he gave Elizabeth the kiss she didn't get when she got home since she had been worried about Neal.

"Sounds good to me. What did you have in mind?" Elizabeth asked.

"How about that Chinese place that has those great dumplings? Mei Shi Lin?" Neal suggested before Peter could say anything, face brightening at the thought of the delicious dumplings.

"I'll get the menu," Elizabeth said happily, then went back into the kitchen.

Apparently as an unspoken agreement, Peter was designated to place the order. After that was done, Peter joined his wife and ex-con in the living room.

"Why don't you go clean up and change into something more comfortable before food gets here?" Elizabeth said to Neal, obviously trying to get the kid out of the room so she could speak with Peter alone.

Neal nodded, then got up and went upstairs, walking more carefully than he had yesterday. Usually he nearly bounced off the walls when he went up the stairs while somehow not even making any noise, his natural grace allowing him to move silently through the house. There were some steps that creaked if enough pressure was put on certain spots, but Neal knew which ones did by now and seemed to always avoid them. But whether he did it unconsciously or not, Peter didn't know.

"What happened?" Elizabeth asked the moment Neal was out of earshot, concern and confusion clear in her voice.

Peter sat down on the couch next to his wife and filled her in on what had happened earlier and what Neal had told him, not even leaving out how he had been grumpy and accidentally took his frustrations out on Neal by not hearing his side of the story before yelling at him. Elizabeth listened to his explanation silently and Peter was relieved to see that she wasn't upset with him for jumping to conclusions too quickly.

"That's horrible! The poor boy. He doesn't deserve that," Elizabeth said when he finished telling her why Josh had attacked Neal.

"I know," Peter said grimly. "We're going to have to figure out how to fix this, but I'm not sure how to yet."

"Did you take him to the hospital to get checked out?" Elizabeth asked after a moment, concern set in her beautiful blue eyes, eyes that were so close to the same shade as Neal's.

"No. He said that he was fine," Peter said, feeling like he needed to defend himself a little. Peter didn't think that the kid was going to keel over from his injuries, though he was no expert and hadn't even seen what state his abdomen was in. Neal was able to hide a lot of things from Peter pretty easily, but Peter doubted that he'd be able to hide the amount of pain he would have been in if his injuries were life-threatening.

"And you believed him?" Elizabeth asked, both exasperated and incredulous.

Peter nodded, starting to feel like he should have taken Neal to the hospital, ignoring the kids complaints and objections the whole way there.

"He's a teenage boy, Peter, one that's been previously...mistreated," she said, carefully avoiding a harsher word. "'Fine' to him is probably 'most likely no internal injuries.'"

"He told me that nothing was broken," Peter said, not liking what Neal knowing how to tell if anything was broken meant.

Elizabeth gently chewed her lip for a moment, deciding what to do. "If his condition worsens, we're taking him to the hospital, but for now we're going to take his word for it," she stated. It wasn't a suggestion, it was what they were going to do, and Peter was fine with that.

Elizabeth then went into the kitchen to gather plates and silverware while Peter checked the news on TV. Well, she was just getting plates and a fork for Peter because he had never bothered to learn how to use chopsticks (forks worked just fine, _thank you very much_ ) while both Elizabeth and Neal used the two wooden sticks with ease.

It took Peter by surprise when Neal walked down the stairs a few minutes later in the agent's old grey Quantico sweatshirt. It must have been one of the things that Elizabeth had given Neal before she went on a shopping spree for the kid, Peter figured.

Even though the sweatshirt was too small for Peter now - his Quantico days were quite a while ago - it seemed to be swallowing Neal's much smaller frame, his hands disappearing in the long sleeves. It seemed to knock about ten years off the kids age, making him look like a six-year-old playing dress-up in his fathers clothes. Peter tried to push down the warm, fuzzy feeling the thought brought to his heart. He wasn't very successful.

Neal had been smiling when he came down, but Peter must have been staring too long because the kid started to squirm under the agent's gaze. He looked down at the sweatshirt, then back up at Peter.

"Do you want me not to wear this?" Neal asked, looking unsure about his clothing decision. "Elizabeth bought everything else for me, but she didn't really get me something as warm and soft as this. But I can find something else if you want me to."

Peter remembered how soft and warm the sweatshirt had been. "No, it's fine. I can't wear it anymore, so you might as well," Peter said, not letting his emotions show, but for what reason? Maybe he didn't want to admit to himself what the kid was doing to his heart, how he wanted to take Neal in and protect him and never let him see the dark side of life ever again, to hide him from all the evils of the world.

Neal smiled, oblivious to Peter's internal battle, then went into the kitchen to help Elizabeth.

Dinner was a quiet, relatively normal occasion, as per usual. All three of them had become more comfortable around each other in the last month, making small-talk a lot easier and awkward silences non-existent.

As Peter looked at the two blue-eyed brunettes sitting at the dining room table with him, as he smiled fondly when they laughed about something he hadn't been paying attention to, he thought that maybe this was how it was supposed to be. It was entirely possible for Peter and Elizabeth to take Neal in permanently, have him become part of the family. The kid needed someone the guide him, to love him. Peter and Elizabeth could be that for him. It wouldn't take any persuading with Elizabeth for it to happen - she loved the kid as much as Peter realized he did. Maybe, just maybe, the Burkes would be able to adopt Neal, have him become part of the family. The thought brought that warm, fuzzy feeling back to Peter's heart and made him smile again.

"What are you smiling about?" Elizabeth asked when Neal went into the kitchen to get a drink, looking at her husband with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

"Nothing," Peter said, unable to make his smile disappear.

Elizabeth looked to the kitchen, where Peter's gaze was as well, then back at Peter with a knowing smile. Peter was never able to keep anything from his wife and this was just another instance where she could see right through him.

"Right, nothing," she said, then expertly used the one-time-use chopsticks that came with the meal to bring a dumpling up to her mouth.

WCWCWCWC

 **I watched 'All In' (season 1, episode 6) the other day and saw that Peter used a fork for eating the dumpling at the end of the episode while Neal used chopsticks. That restaurant was the one they were talking about in this chapter, if you were wondering. I never bothered to learn how to use chopsticks myself - forks are just easier and I like to leave the more challenging chopsticking to the dexterous while I use my plain old forks.**

 **The ice pack described in this chapter was from 'Vidal Signs' (season 1, episode 10) when Peter brought Neal to his house after he was drugged. I think that episode is a favorite to many.**

 **The 515 form mentioned is from 'Bad Judgment' (season 1, episode 9) where a little girl drew Agent Burke on a 515 form. I thought it would be fun to bring in a few things from the show to my story. I had also used quotes from the Pilot when Neal got his ID.**

 **Reviews make me smile!**


	12. Confessions And Concerns

**I know, I'm an evil person for not updating for so long. I'm so sorry! I've been picking and picking at this for so long and I've finally forced myself to just post it. I hope it's good!**

A light, soft snow was gently falling outside of the three-story townhouse as New York saw its first snowfall of the season. The weatherman called for about three inches of light, fluffy snow that was bound to turn into slush and ice within hours of landing on the city streets. Inside, a warm fire roared within the fireplace and warmed the whole living room and its occupants, who were busy at work to take down the bad guy of the week.

"There's a blind spot here that the thief probably used," Neal said as he pointed at the blueprints spread out on the coffee table in front of the two of them. Neal was helping take down another criminal and, as per usual, his knowledge in thefts was proving to be invaluable. "He probably stood under this camera here, then waited as it panned around and went for the safe. He would have had about ten seconds to get around the corner to the next blind spot - plenty of time, if it were me. If the thief was a professional, and it wouldn't take one, he'd be in and out in twenty, tops."

"Where'd you learn to read blueprints and time cameras like that?" Peter asked, honestly curious about where a teenager would have learned to do something like that.

"My dad taught me," Neal said thoughtlessly, then snapped his mouth shut in a futile attempt to bring the words back into his mouth, for them not to be heard.

This was Peter's chance to ask Neal about his past, to get a glimpse of who Neal Caffrey was before he came into his life, one he did not want to pass up. "Was he the reason why you ran away?" Peter asked gently, knowing it was a very personal question but needing to know. He needed to know who to aim his anger at every time he saw the damage - physical and emotional - that Neal's abuser had caused.

Neal's eyes shot up to Peter's in shock, then they lowered to stare at the table. He was quiet for a long time, but Peter knew that he was working up the courage to say something, so the agent patiently waited for him to speak up. "He was a cop...and I wanted to be just like him, once upon a time. He taught me how to think like a criminal so I knew what their next move would be. He taught me how to pick handcuffs and lose tails, even how to shoot a gun, things a cop might need to know." Neal had a hint of a smile as he reminisced, but then it turned bitter. "Turns out it was also things a criminal might need to know...After my dad lost his job, I took over taking care of the bills. I didn't have experience in anything else, didn't know what else to _do_ , so I stole and conned."

Neal seemed to actually want to tell someone about his past, to let someone else see the damage and pain hidden under the confident and carefree façade for once, so Peter just stayed quiet and let him take his time.

"He wasn't that bad most of the time...not until my mom died," Neal said quietly, eyes turning sorrowful at the thought of his late mother. This was the most Neal had talked about his mother and father since he told Peter that one was dead and the other in prison.

"Did he hurt you after that?" Peter gently prodded.

"It was my fault she died, so he had a reason to hurt me," Neal answered immediately, and Peter's heart broke when he realized that Neal actually thought he had deserved getting beat. It was probably common for the person being abused to feel like they deserved it, but it was no way true in Neal's case, no matter what happened.

"That is in _no_ way true, Neal," Peter said adamantly.

"You don't even know what happened," Neal argued, looking confused by Peter's blind confidence of his innocence.

"It doesn't matter. There is _no_ way for your father to justify hitting you. No one should have to go through that," Peter said, confident of what he was saying.

"It wasn't that bad, if I didn't do anything to make him mad," Neal said, defending the man that had made him believe his mothers death was his fault. Peter thought he might just have to get Neal's fathers location just to give the man a taste of his own medicine. Though he knew that he wasn't that kind of man. He wasn't like Neal's father.

"There is no excuse. He should have been there for you after your mother died, not blame you for her death," Peter continued.

"I wasn't strong enough to stop the guy. I was weak and a coward and she died because of me," Neal said, his voice cracking slightly at the end.

Peter was surprised to hear that Neal had been there when his mother died, murdered even. It had to have been very traumatic for a kid to go through something like that. "What happened?" Peter asked gently.

Neal sighed and looked across the room, his eyes glazing over as he thought back to the day his mother died. "It was my thirteenth birthday. My mom and me were on our way to the store to get me a cake. We never had very much money, but she always got me a cake, every year." Again, a slight smile was on Neal's face as he reminisced about his past. The smile disappeared as he continued the story. "A man came out of nowhere and pointed a gun at us. My mom gave him her money...but then he _shot_ her, for no reason. And I didn't do anything to stop it. She died because I was too weak and scared to do anything." Neal's voice was so sad and mournful, but also so sure of what he said.

"You were just a kid, Neal. You couldn't have done anything to stop that man. It wasn't your fault," Peter said, his heart aching for the kid. Neal's life really had been traumatic, and it explained his paralyzing fear of guns. To have someone that close to him die like that right in front of him... It was a wonder how he had turned out like he did.

"I appreciate that, I really do, but I know what happened," Neal said sadly, so sure that he was to blame.

"So do I," Peter said, his voice confident. "Your father told you lies about a situation that had been completely out of your control to give himself someone to blame for his wife's death. It was completely wrong and he never should have done that."

Neal looked so hopeful for Peter's words to be true, for the blame of his mothers death to finally leave his shoulders that Peter didn't even think before he leaned forward and wrapped Neal's lithe frame in a warm hug. Predictably, Neal stiffened and didn't return the hug at first. But then his arms slowly, hesitantly, reached up and wrapped around Peter's back.

"Your mothers death was _not_ your fault, Neal. You couldn't have done anything to stop it. You didn't deserve what your father did to you," Peter said as he rubbed his hand up and down Neal's stiff back. Peter could feel faint indentations across Neal's back, but he tried to ignore them and the anger that came with knowing exactly what they were and who had caused them.

"I'll _never_ hurt you like your father did, Neal. I promise," Peter continued, meaning every word. He shuttered at the thought of ever hurting Neal.

Slowly, Neal relaxed and eventually melted into the hug, giving into the love that he had needed but denied for too long. He rested his head on Peter's shoulder as Peter continued to rub soothing circles across the kids back.

The two of them broke apart after a minute. Peter pretended to not notice the shine in Neal's eyes that reflected the flames of the nearby fire and busied himself with uselessly shuffling around the papers on the coffee table in front of them while the kid wiped the unshed tears away. Emotions were not one of Peter's areas of expertise and the little moment they just had left him more than a little uncomfortable and slightly emotional himself. But if it had helped Neal, then it was worth it.

Peter looked back at Neal after both of them had enough time to get their emotions under control. Neal was staring off into space, his expression burdened and deep in thought. "It wasn't your fault your mother died, Neal," Peter said, wanting to make sure that he knew the truth.

Neal startled slightly, taken away from his internal musings, and looked at Peter with lost eyes. "Do you really think that?" he asked, unsure but hopeful.

Peter looked directly in Neal's bright blue eyes to make sure his message was heard. "I do. Neal, you are a bright, caring kid that has overcome such difficulty and heartache and came out the other side stronger and a better person than your father could even inspire to be," Peter said, as sure as he was that the sky was blue and as much as he loved his wife and, he realized with a warm feeling in his heart, as much as he loved Neal.

Neal replied by giving Peter a smile that could have lit up the darkness in anyone's hearts.

WCWCWCWC

Neal pulled the collar of his warm coat a little higher to fend off the biting wind that blew between the townhouses that surrounded him. Even though it was cold outside, Neal was still happy to be walking down the sidewalk towards the Burkes after taking a walk around the neighborhood to enjoy the late-fall scenery. The snow that had fallen the day before and hadn't been shoveled away was still a beautiful pure white that somehow made the whole city look more innocent, more peaceful. Neal loved the snow, always had, loved the idea of drawing many things that he saw as he walked under the street lights that made the snow even brighter. His mother had loved the snow too. Maybe that was why he did as well.

As Neal turned the last corner to get back to the Burkes house, he thought back to the conversation that he and Peter had the night before. Neal surprised himself by opening up to Peter like that, telling him about his messed up past. He had only ever confided to his mother, when she was still alive, and then he just kept his thoughts to himself after that since his father never wanted to hear about his problems, especially since most of them had involved the bastard's abuse.

Neal knew that Peter and his father were polar opposites. Peter was a good, honest man that obeyed and enforced the law, and his father was a deadbeat drunk that broke every law he felt like breaking - they couldn't have been more different.

Peter told him that he wasn't to blame for his mother's death, but the exact opposite had been drilled into his head for three years by his father. Could Peter have been right about his mothers death? Was he really not to blame? Neal had spent three years blaming himself for not being strong or brave enough to save his mother that it was difficult to think otherwise.

He allowed himself to believe Peter for just a moment the night before and it had felt so _freeing_. He had been carrying that burden for three years and it was a great feeling to not blame himself for just a moment. Maybe he'd be able to stop blaming himself one day, he thought hopefully.

The hug Peter gave him was not expected either. Peter knew about his adversity to touch, but if he was touched like that more often, he thought he'd definitely be able to get used to it. He was just so used to touches bringing pain that all contact with other people was hard to accept. He hadn't hugged someone since his mother died, and Neal had felt as if none of the worlds demons could touch him while Peter held him in his warm embrace. It was stupid, but he had felt truly safe for those couple of minutes. It was wonderful to think that Peter had said those things and hugged him out of something close to love, but Neal wasn't sure if it was that or pity.

As much as he didn't want to think about it, he knew this wonderful family-like situation was only temporary. A spot at a group home would open up sooner or later and he'd only see Peter at the bureau and probably wouldn't even see Elizabeth anymore. That thought sent a sharp pang through his heart. They really had been so nice to him, even though they knew that he was a criminal. He was going to miss living with them so much.

As Neal passed an alley, deep in thought, a man walked out and stood in his path, stopping Neal dead in his tracks. Neal's stomach dropped when the man took a step forward so the nearby streetlight shined on his face and he realized that he recognized the man in front of him.

The man stood slightly taller than Neal as he stared down at him with cold blue eyes that bore right into Neal's. His light brown hair that was cut quite similarly to his own was greying on the sides and a dark coat and jeans made him almost appear as a shadow amongst the darkness of the alley behind him.

"Dad."

 **Cliffhanger!**

 **Okay, I think we all expected James to come back and ruin everything. It's just his way. If not, then this must be a big shock!**

 **Reviews make me smile!**


	13. A Shadow From The Past

**I want to point out that Neal's father never sexually abused him, only physically. I don't think I've actually made that clear, so I just wanted to make sure you guys knew. I wouldn't have been able to do that to poor young Neal, or older Neal.**

"Dad," Neal said, too shocked to say anything else. He hated himself for letting his voice waver like he was a scared child. He was willing to admit he was scared of the sight of his father looming over him, but he was no child.

"I thought I told you not to call me that," James said as he stepped closer, anger clear in his voice.

Neal flinched as he realized that he had angered his father, again. He took a furtive glance down the street, but it was completely deserted, no one willing to walk in the snowy cold at this time of night. "W-what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to get my moneymaker back," he said, then smiled a smile that had always promised to bring pain. "And to teach him a lesson."

Neal knew that that was all he was to his father - a way to get money so he didn't have to get himself a job and spend less time drinking and gambling. James had never really loved him, and things had just gone downhill after Neal's mother died.

"I thought you were in jail. How did you get out?" Neal asked, his panic-filled mind clearing enough to realize that James wasn't supposed to be here.

"A bribe or threat to the right person goes a long way," James said offhandedly, then took a step forward. "Now, you're coming with me."

"You can't kidnap me!" Neal yelled, appalled by the idea. He took a step back, preparing himself to run if he had to. He had never actually tried to run before in fear of angering his father even more, but he had somewhere to run to now, he had a place he belonged, a place that was only a block away.

"You're my kid, I can do what I want with you."

Neal was trying to sort out his fathers twisted logic when James reached out and harshly grabbed Neal's arm and pulled him towards a red, late-model car that was parked nearby.

"Let go of me!" Neal shouted as he tried, and failed, to pull away from his father, frantically looking around for someone, anyone, to help him. The street was still completely empty and eerily silent. He couldn't believe that he was being kidnapped with Peter and Elizabeth only a block away, completely unaware of what was happening to him.

Neal had never fought back either, but he was not letting his father take him away from a place that he was just starting to think of as home.

Seeing no one to help him, Neal took the initiative by kicking James in the shin, then he attempted to punch him in the face with his free hand. James, apparently seeing the attack coming, blocked the fist, then delivered a quick but painful blow to Neal's stomach. Neal bent at the waist and coughed as he tried to get his breath back.

Neal, not willing to give up, clenched his jaw and shouldered his father's chest, surprising the man enough to let go of his arm. It gave Neal a chance to escape and he took it.

As he dashed down the street towards a place he associated with safety, Neal didn't dare look back to see if his father was chasing after him or not. He was too afraid to see how close his father might've been.

Neal knew he was faster than his father and if it wasn't for a patch of ice on the sidewalk, he might have actually gotten away. Neal started slipping and slowed to prevent himself from falling and assuring his capture. Unfortunately, it gave James a chance to catch up.

Just as Neal got passed the patch of slippery ice, James tackled him from behind, sending them both into the snow with James' larger body landing on top of Neal's much smaller one. The wind was quickly knocked out of Neal from the heavy weight on his back and he could do nothing but lie there and attempt to get his breath back.

James got off of him, then delivered a few punishing blows to Neal's side. When Neal felt the all-too-familiar feeling of his father's boot hitting him, he instinctively curled into a protective ball, just like he had so many other times before. The Burkes house was only about ten houses from them now, but it might as well have been miles away.

James then forcefully hauled Neal to his feet, but kept a bruising grip on his arm to prevent another escape attempt, though Neal wasn't going to try another boneheaded stunt like that until he saw a good time to escape. Staying with his father _definitely_ wasn't an option.

Neal hadn't caught his breath from the short but adrenaline-filled run as well as when his father landed on him and the harsh kicks he had received. He gasped as his father seethed next to him, his anger practically radiating off of him.

"Don't even _think_ about doing that again, ya hear me?" James spat, then shook Neal when he didn't respond. "I said, _do you hear me_?"

Neal nodded silently, hoping that it was a good enough answer.

James punched Neal in the stomach one more time, then dragged him back to the car. He stopped in front of the passenger side door and turned to his son. "Now, if you promise to not pull another one of your stupid stunts all the way to where we're going, you can ride in the front," he offered, still fuming a little.

"And if I don't?" Neal asked a little breathlessly, though he had a feeling about what the answer might've been.

James smiled. "We get to see if you can fit in the trunk," he said, making it sound like it would be a fun thing to try.

"I'll behave," Neal said softly as his eyes unconsciously lowered to the ground, knowing there was no point in rebelling, yet. He was going to have to bide his time until he saw a way to escape. He was not going to let his father force him back into the very life that he had run away from. He had somewhere he belonged now and he wasn't going to let his father take that away from him.

James pulled a large zip-tie out of his back pocket and turned Neal around to face the car as he tightly secured his hands behind his back. James knew of Neal's ability to get out of cuffs since he was the one who had taught him. Neal had yet to master zip-ties, though he did know the basic mechanics of them. He definitely couldn't slip them since James tightened them until they dug into his skin.

Neal would have thought of his father zip-tying his hands as absurd and wrong, but their relationship had never been normal. James had used his superiority and strength to overpower and coerce Neal countless times, so this was unfortunately not that out of the ordinary.

James opened the door for Neal and held his head as he got in as if he was a criminal being arrested. Neal supposed old habits died hard since James had been a cop for eighteen years before he was fired. Neal didn't know exactly why his father had gotten kicked off the force, but it probably had something to do with him often going to work hungover or even drunk as well as his explosive anger that could have been set off by any little thing.

Neal was surprised when James reached over and buckled him in until he realized that it restricted his movement even more. It definitely wasn't his concerns for his son's wellbeing that had him securing him into the seat.

Having his hands behind his back while sitting in the car was quite uncomfortable and Neal struggled to find a position that didn't strain his shoulders or cause him to sit on his hands. Having bruised ribs wasn't helping his comfort either. Neal knew that they weren't broken - he had vast knowledge of what that felt like - but they definitely were badly bruised. He had a sinking feeling that it wasn't the only injuries that he'd sustain while in his father's custody.

James got into the drivers side, then pulled out what looked like a pair of sharp industrial shears. For a moment Neal had no idea what his father was going to do with them and his mind came up with some pretty terrifying thoughts.

Using him as a convenient place to put out his cigars was about as creative as his father had ever gotten. His fists, feet and belt were usually his favorite things to use when punishing Neal. Neal personally hated the belt the most, especially when he used the side with the buckle. He shuttered at the memory of the metal buckle hitting his back after he made the mistake of asking his father to stop drinking so much. That had been back when he was young and naïve. He knew better now than to ask his father to do anything.

"Your anklet isn't coming with us," James said as he leaned over and cut through the thick plastic band. Neal felt a rush of both relief and fear when the shears weren't used on him directly. He hadn't even thought about the anklet - it almost felt normal for him to have it on anymore.

But what was Peter going to think when the Marshals called to tell him that the anklet had been cut? Would he think that Neal had just cut and run? Why would he ever want to leave people that actually cared for him? Yeah, the restrictions of the anklet weren't fun and the kids at school were still pretty cold to him even though Peter and Elizabeth had the teachers set them straight about why he had an anklet. But all of that was more than worth it if it meant he could stay with Peter and Elizabeth.

They were the only people in a long time that actually wanted to see him happy. Neal didn't even believe it at first, thinking that they were either playing some twisted game or waiting until he really screwed up to show their true selves, but they hadn't once shown anything but love towards him. It was disconcerting for a while, but now it was wonderful. Now his father was taking away the only true happiness he'd had in over three years.

James turned on the ignition and started driving farther away from the Burkes house. He rolled down the window enough to carelessly throw the anklet out into the street, then rolled it back up to stop the cold wind from getting into the car. "Didn't think I knew about that, did you? Well, I did some research about you and I must say, I'm disappointed," James said, shaking his head in disgust.

"Disappointed? Why? Because I'm not committing crimes anymore? Or because I found people that don't treat me like crap or a source of income?" Neal didn't know what had gotten into him - he never talked back to his old man, ever. All it would have accomplished was more pain and he usually knew better. Where the hell was this foreign and foolish courage coming from?

"You really think you found yourself a family, don't you?" James asked, sounding a little incredulous but mostly disappointed. "You really think they'd give a shit about you if they knew half of the things you've done?"

"I did that to pay the bills and buy you beer! And I never hurt anyone, never stole from someone that couldn't survive without the money I took," Neal defended. It was true - he never hurt anyone and never would have been able to. He loathed guns and violence of any kind, even before his mothers violent death and abuse from his father. He did know how to shoot a gun because his father had taught him, but he never liked the idea of carrying one when he planned on becoming a cop like his dad. That dream had died a long ago.

"Your new ' _daddy_ ' is a fed, boy. He doesn't give a damn if you killed anyone. He'd take you down all the same if he knew what you did," James said, echoing that voice in Neal's head that told him that the world he lived in was a fake one, a temporary one.

No, James was wrong - they cared about him. Neal shook his head, denying his father's cruel words. "Peter will find you and you'll wish you stayed in jail," he said lowly and confidently.

"Oh, so it's Peter, is it? You're on a first name basis with your master?" James taunted, still disgusted.

"I'm more of an equal with him than I _ever_ was with you!" Neal yelled back.

"Did he teach you that you could talk back to your superiors without consequences?" James asked with a clear note of malice.

"Bastard," Neal spat just for spite. It was stupid, but he couldn't help but say it. It was the truth, after all.

James reached over and backhanded Neal so quick that Neal didn't even have the chance to brace himself for the blow. His cheek pulsed painfully as he realized he really shouldn't have said that.

"Enough of that cheek from you," James growled. "If they knew the real you, they'd be giving you to me on a silver platter."

"Not everyone is as cold and heartless as you," Neal couldn't help but snap angrily.

"Maybe not," he allowed, nodding his head, "but if they knew you for the criminal you are, they would be disgusted with who they had lived with this whole time."

Neal shook his head, disagreeing with his father's words. "They're good people."

"And you were ruining their lives with your lies and deceit. Face it kid, you're a criminal and always will be one. You don't belong in their world."

"I _never_ lied to them," Neal said lowly.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, _Neal Caffrey_ ," James said, apparently knowing that Neal had changed his name.

"I didn't want your name for so many reasons," Neal said venomously, his hatred towards his father overpowering his fear of him.

"I've thought about disowning you many times myself. Fortunately for you, you still have use for me."

"Yay me," Neal muttered sarcastically.

"This time away from me has really effected your respect towards me, hasn't it? You're going to have to learn how to respect me again. It's clear that those two bleeding hearts polluted your mind with false securities."

"I _never_ respected you, I only feared you," Neal answered, his voice low but hateful. His father already knew how much Neal was afraid of him, it showed every time he did as his father asked. Of course he was talking back to his father now, something that he never even thought about doing in the past.

Neal realized that this new courage wouldn't get him anywhere but more hurt. He knew that James was not afraid of crippling him either. He had proved that multiple times. The only reason they became less frequent in the last couple of months they had been together was because people were going to stop believing that he kept having 'skateboarding accidents'. A kid could only become so clumsy before someone started noticing. Unfortunately for Neal, no one ever had. The best thing for him to do was just shut up and play along with his father's demands until he saw a way to escape.

"And you don't fear me now?" James challenged, looking over at Neal with a hard expression.

Neal didn't have an answer for his father, so he just shut his mouth and looked out the window, trying to see where they were going. They were headed towards the Brooklyn Bridge, so their destination might've been Manhattan. That or they'd just head straight to the state border and out of Peter's jurisdiction. Would Peter be able to even find him if they left the state? Would he even try? Was his father right about him ruining their perfect life? If he did escape from James, maybe he shouldn't go back to the Burkes. Their life would probably be better off without a criminal in their warm home.

No, his father was just lying. James had always tried to twist the truth to his favor and now was no exception. Peter and Elizabeth cared about him, they liked him, they might've just loved him. It was unlikely for people like them to love a criminal like him, but it was possible, right? He'd never know if he didn't escape his father's grasp again.

As they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, Neal hoped that Peter knew that he didn't run, that he wanted to stay with them forever. It was a pipe dream, but it was wonderful to think of every once in a while. Neal needed that comfort right now, so he thought of all of the things that the three of them had done over the few months they had been together. He was so absorbed in the fond and family-like memories that he almost forgot where he was for a moment. His father's voice brought him back to his unfortunate reality.

"Don't think that that FBI agent will come and save the day. He's probably thanking God for the miracle of your disappearance," James said, his amusement of Neal's blind trust in Peter, an FBI agent, clear.

Neal clenched his jaw and forced himself not to respond. Talking back would only get him more hurt, and if James ended up crippling him in his rage, then things would get even worse.

Something suddenly occurred to Neal - his father's speech wasn't slurred and he hadn't cursed for at least three sentences. He was obviously not drunk, which was a rare sight. He must have either run out of beer money, or thought that he needed to be sober to catch Neal. Or both.

His father had always been a drinker, even before his wife died, so Neal was more than surprised to see him not intoxicated. He was always more violent when he was drunk, so Neal supposed it was a good thing that he wasn't. Of course his reflexes and balance always became compromised when inebriated. That would have made escaping easier, but that was if Neal had seen a chance to escape, which he hadn't yet. It was a game of patience now, one that Neal wasn't planning on loosing. He had too much at stake now.

 **I want to give a special thanks to 'Caffreyfan' who has been leaving such heartwarming reviews for me. Thank you! I also want to thank everyone else that has been reviewing, viewing, following, and favoriting this and all of my stories! I have no duobt that I wouldn't have written this many stories without your support and kind words. Thank you once again. :-)**

 **Reviews make me smile!**


	14. Welcome To My Life

**The title to this chapter is from a song by 'Simple Plan'.**

 **Thank you guys so much for all of the kind words! You guys are so nice - nicer than I expected anyone to be when I first started writing. I mean, out of the hundreds of reviews I've gotten, I've only had like four mean ones, and three of them were from the same person that obviously doesn't enjoy Neal whump like most of us do! Either you guys are saints, or I'm actually good at writing. I haven't decided which one it true.**

 **Oh, right, you guys probably want to just read the story. Well, here it is!**

Neal had said that he'd be back before dinner was ready, but the food - garlic chicken with mashed potatoes and a side of vegetables - was already on the table, untouched and just waiting for the last person to arrive. Neal had said that he wanted to walk around the neighborhood to enjoy the snow that had fallen the day before. Peter had never seen someone so enthusiastic about snow before. He had actually talked about drawing some pictures of the scenery that he went out to see and Peter thought that they made an important step forward since Neal had never talked about his talent before then. He was opening up to them and both Peter and Elizabeth were ecstatic to know that he was feeling more and more comfortable around them.

Peter and Elizabeth had talked a lot the last couple of weeks about Neal's future with them and they both decided that they wouldn't have been able to see Neal leave to a group home. Peter had stopped calling around weeks ago anyway. It wouldn't even matter if there was an opening - they both wanted him to stay with them. The question now was if _he_ wanted to stay with them.

Elizabeth and Peter had requested to become Neal's legal guardians a week ago. They went through all of the right channels, passed the background checks. They wanted to do this right, make it permanent. It didn't matter to them that he'd legally only be under their care for less than two years. It was the symbolism that counted, and Neal was worth it.

A social worker would have to meet with Neal at some point to make sure he was happy with where he was and Peter and Elizabeth hoped he would tell them that he was as happy as they were. Neal seemed quite happy with them and his grades were also doing great. He hadn't said much about whether the kids at school were still giving him trouble, but he hadn't gotten into anymore fights as far as they could tell. He was just not one that trusted easily and he tended to keep things close to the vest. But they were making progress, little by little.

The forms for adoption were waiting inside of the cabinet by the dining room table. Elizabeth and Peter had already signed them. They'd pull them out after dinner and ask Neal if he wanted to be part of their family. All they were waiting for was Neal, who should have been back about ten minutes ago.

"He should have been back by now," Peter muttered worryingly as he looked at the back door where Neal had disappeared to over a half an hour ago. Even Satchmo seemed to catch on to something being amiss - he too was watching the back door with a doggie version of Peter's worried expression.

"I'm sure he'll be back soon enough. You saw how excited he was about the snow," Elizabeth said, though Peter knew that he heard a clear note of concern in her voice.

Peter was just contemplating pulling Neal's tracking data up when his phone started to ring. "Burke," he answered briskly and distractedly. Peter's eyes widened as he listened to what the caller had to say. "Where did it last transmit?...Alright, meet me there."

Peter knew that Elizabeth could easily tell by the sudden change in his body language that he was not happy about what he was hearing on the other side of the phone. She leaned forward in her seat, obviously eager to know what Peter was being told.

"Dammit," Peter muttered when he hung up.

"What's wrong, hon?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes wide and imploring.

Peter sighed before he answered his wife. "Neal cut his anklet," he said grimly.

"What? Why would he do that?" Elizabeth almost shouted, her confusion cutting through clearly.

"I don't know," Peter said, just as confused as Elizabeth.

"I thought he was happy here," Elizabeth said a little brokenly.

"Me, too," Peter said, then stood up from their untouched dinner. He needed to go to the last place the anklet had transmitted, see if he could find any clues, or, if he was extremely lucky, Neal.

"Where was it cut?" Elizabeth asked, standing as well. It didn't escape Peter's notice that she didn't say that Neal had cut the anklet. It was a possibility that Neal hadn't been the one to cut it, but Peter was pretty sure the alternative was even more concerning than Neal running away.

"About a half a block away," Peter said as he walked over to a chair in the living room that he had put his coat over when he came home earlier.

"Why would he cut it so close to home? Wouldn't it make more sense if he cut it closer to the edge of his radius if he wanted to run?" Elizabeth, the wife of an FBI agent that she was, had picked up on different ways to look at a single action and had helped Peter with more than a few cases over the years. Of course, her natural intuition seemed to help even more often.

Peter put on his coat while walking to the door, but turned to his wife and forced himself to say what had been in the back of his mind as well. "Maybe he didn't run..."

Elizabeth's wide eyes meant Peter's. "Who would take our boy?" she asked, even more worried than before.

A sudden thought came to Peter, one that made his stomach drop. "His father."

WCWCWCWC

"I used all of my money on getting out of jail and coming here, so you're going to make me some more. I've already got a job lined up," James said as they drove through the streets of Manhattan.

Neal didn't know this part of Manhattan very well, but he could easily tell that it wasn't the best part of the city. Many buildings were boarded up, no doubt holding squatters that wanted to stay out of the bitter cold for the night. He could sympathize with them and their simple need for warmth.

"Wait, we're not leaving the state?" Neal questioned after he realized what his father had said. It seemed like the most logical thing to do after kidnapping a teenage criminal on a tracking anklet that was - temporarily - living with an FBI agent.

"No. There's something valuable I've been staking out for the last couple of days," James responded, a clear note of excitement in his voice. It was no doubt the price of the item that he was most excited about. Neal had always liked the story and message behind the piece, but his father never shared Neal's love for art, he only cared for its value.

Wait, his father actually staked something out? He hadn't done that in years, back when Neal had still been learning the ropes. It must had been something really valuable for his father to actually do the casing himself. That or their timeframe to steal it was small.

"What is it?" Neal asked, both curious and resigned. He didn't really like to admit it, but stealing and conning gave him a rush like no other - except maybe like when he outsmarted criminals with Peter - and he couldn't help but like parts of what he did. Maybe he really was a criminal at heart.

James smiled at Neal's compliance and curiosity. "A golden statuette of Aphrodite," he stated with clear pride.

"The goddess of love?" Neal asked, thinking back to the animated Hercules TV show that he had watched as a kid. She had a catchy little song that played every time she appeared and it made it easy to remember who she was.

James nodded. "Yes. It's thousands of years old and estimated to be worth a least a hundred thousand on the black market. It was being displayed at the MET, but now it's at a warehouse waiting to be shipped back to Greece. We're going to steal it tomorrow night."

They had never gone after something so expensive before. Usually it was Neal conning someone out of their money, or stealing easy to take things while James just took the fruits of his labor. This was a whole new level of illegal and Neal didn't know what Peter would do if he caught him stealing the statuette. He'd have to make sure Peter caught up with them before or after the theft, just in case he didn't believe that Neal was coerced into stealing it. Why would he, if he was caught holding the statuette and no other proof but Neal's word?

"Don't think that I'm okay with any of this," Neal muttered to his father, then tensed when he realized James might hit him again for that. He really needed to stop talking back.

"That doesn't matter to me. All that matters is you doing your part and not screwing things up," James said, his voice making it clear that Neal would regret screwing up.

Neal sighed and leaned back against the back of his seat, resigned to his fate for now.

James drove for a few more minutes until they came to a stop by some old and worn down warehouses. James got out or the car and came over to the passengers side. He opened the door and looked sternly at Neal. "You try to run again and I'll do more than just smack you around a little," he said, making Neal fear what his father might actually do to him if he caught him trying to escape again. He definitely would have to make sure he could get away clean so he didn't find out what his father would do to him if he failed to get away again.

"I won't run," Neal told James, the lie slipping off of his tongue relatively easily.

James seemed to believe Neal because he nodded and unbuckled him. Neal tensed when his father took the shears out again, but all James did was lean him forward and cut the zip-tie that had bound his hands.

"What are we doing here?" Neal asked after he got out of the car, stretching his arms and hands to get the blood flowing in them again. Neal could see that the zip-tie hadn't broken skin, but they had left angry red marks on his wrists.

James didn't seem to like Neal asking questions, but answered anyway. "We're here to meet with a guy that's going to help us," he said as they walked down a dirty and litter-ridden alley.

"You don't work with partners," Neal said with a clear note of confusion in his voice.

"Well, since it's a much bigger job than what we're used to, I had to this time," James answered, then stopped walking, Neal doing so as well.

"Who is he?" Neal asked curiously.

James glared at Neal for asking another question, but he seemed to want to tell Neal anyway. "His name's Haversham. An alias, or the guy had been no doubt bullied as a kid. He'll be causing a distraction for the guards while you slip in and steal the statuette. And don't say anything to him if you know what's good for you. I don't need you scaring him off. The guys more than a little paranoid."

So the guards weren't being payed off. That could be riskier if this Haversham person didn't know how to distract them. Hopefully the guy knew what he was doing.

Neal just nodded and didn't say anything else, not sure what else to ask and afraid of angering his father. He almost asked what James' part was in the theft, but if history proved correct, he would be waiting in the getaway car while everyone else took the real risk. It was his fathers nature to use others while he stayed out of the line of fire. Maybe cowardice ran in the family.

The thought of running right now crossed Neal's mind, but then he thought of James catching him and he couldn't risk it. If there was one thing that got Neal to do what he was told, it was the threat of pain and violence. James knew that and exploited it in any way he could.

A man that Neal could only assume was Haversham showed up about five minutes later. He came into the alley holding a newspaper in front of him as he walked halfway down the alley, then stopped to lean against the brick wall. "I saw a mocking bird in the park," he said conversationally, not putting the newspaper down.

"I'm not doing this stupid mocking bird crap, Haversham. Get over here," James snapped impatiently. Apparently James knew of this Haversham character's unorthodox ways of meeting.

Haversham put the newspaper down and glared mildly at James through his thick-rimmed glasses, giving Neal the chance to see him for the first time. He was kind of odd looking, in Neal's opinion, and maybe a little crazy, but in a good, Einstein kind of way. Even though the man seemed to be trying to blend in, his long, brown trench coat and flat cap made him look more conspicuous than not.

Haversham warily moved closer to them while looking behind himself several times. The man was obviously very paranoid about this meeting. "You could have at least brought the newspaper with you," he said to James, then nodded to Neal. "Who's the kid?"

"He's our thief," James explained, not surprising Neal when he didn't say anything about him being his son.

Haversham looked doubtfully at Neal. "He's just a kid," he needlessly pointed out.

"Yes, but he's the only one of us that's going the be able to fit through the air ducts," James said, giving Neal a little more information about the actual theft. He had crawled through air ducts before, but he never enjoyed being in the cramped space. Of course it wasn't as if he had an option.

Haversham nodded in reluctant agreement. "I suppose that makes sense."

"Do you have everything set up for tomorrow?" James asked, sticking to business.

Haversham nodded again, his feet shifting nervously. "Yeah, it's all set up. I'll bring the car to meeting spot number three tomorrow at eight and we'll head to the warehouse together from there."

James nodded, seemingly satisfied with what Haversham said.

"Do you have blueprints of the vents?" Neal asked without thinking, just trying to get some more information about his role in the theft. He immediately flinched when James turned to glare at him for speaking up. His time with Peter and Elizabeth really had made him more outspoken, something that he definitely shouldn't continue to do if he didn't want to get hurt again.

"What did I just say?" James whispered harshly at him.

"Sorry," Neal murmured, his eyes downcast while still watching James out of the corner of his eye.

James seemed to want to hit Neal for speaking up after expressly being told not to - a rookie mistake, so stupid - but he managed to refrain from doing so.

Neal could see Haversham peer at them through his thick-rimmed glasses. He seemed to find their interaction quite interesting for some reason. "Yeah, I have blueprints, kid. I'll bring them with me tomorrow," he answered, though James didn't seem to be too happy with Haversham talking either. The man's voice was almost kind now, like he was making an effort to be nice to Neal, which was doubtful.

It was highly doubtful that Haversham would help Neal escape from his father or even help the man get arrested, especially since he probably wanted to the money from the statuette as much as James did. No, Haversham was not someone Neal could trust, no matter how much he wanted him to be.

Neal knew it would only make things worse if he said anything else, so he stuck with just nodding meekly while still staring at the ground.

With nothing else to say, James wordlessly went back the way they came, dragging Neal along with him.

Neal knew by the look of ire on James' face that he wouldn't get away with speaking up. James wasn't someone that just let things go and he showed his hatred towards his son every chance he got. Neal's heart pounded harder and harder the closer they got to the car, knowing his punishment was coming very soon.

Once they arrived at the car, James shoved Neal against the side of the vehicle, then struck him across the jaw. Neal stumbled a little, but caught himself before he fell to the ground and became even more vulnerable.

James pointed a finger at Neal as he glared fiercely at him. "I give you an order, I expect you to do it! You're not to disrespect me like that again," he growled.

Neal nodded quickly, too fearful to even try to show any bravery. James always hated when he did that anyway. He seemed to think that it was a sign of defiance, which it kind of was.

James glared at Neal for another minute, then seemed to think that his message was heard clearly. He opened the passenger side door and roughly shoved Neal into the car.

It definitely wasn't the first time James had hit Neal, and it no doubt wouldn't be the last. Neal vividly remembered the very first time his father had hit him. It was right after the man had been told that his wife was murdered.

Neal had been taken to the hospital with his mother since he was practically catatonic by the time someone had found them. No one knew if he was hurt since he was in such a state of shock that he didn't even see anyone but his mother's lifeless body. All he really remembered was that he refused to leave his mothers side.

His mother had died far before the ambulance had even got there, her beautiful blue eyes closing against Neal's pleas and attempts to save her.

James had come to the hospital some time later, probably after someone called him though Neal was pretty sure that he hadn't given his fathers contact information to anyone. He burst into the small room that Neal had been sitting in after the medical staff had finally convinced him to leave his mother.

Neal had never before seen his father so angry as he did when he rushed up to him and backhanded him. Then he started in on how Neal should have protected his mother and how it was all his fault that she was dead.

Neal just sat there, holding his throbbing cheek and staring at the floor as his father screamed at him. It was no doubt the worst day of his life. He had lost both of his parents that day, though it took him a while to truly realize it.

 **Ooh, mean James! I think we will truly hate him by the time this is all over.**

 **A few people have asked about writing about Neal getting more trouble at school and stuff, and while it's not possible to put that in right now, I'll see what I can do about Neal having a crush or doing something Neal-like at school. I might end up making a sequel instead of adding it to this story so it doesn't drag on. Though I'd definitely end up posting something else between that.**

 **I'm also trying to figure out what story to post along with this one. Would you guys rather read an angsty betrayal story with Peter and Neal I mentioned in my other story, or a more lighthearted pre-series one with Neal and Mozzie trying (and failing) to steal rubies from Burma? Let me know, please!**

 **And hey, I figured out how to integrate Mozzie into the story! Tell me what you guys think of where this story is going! You know reviews make me smile!**


	15. Carry On, My Wayward Son

**Thank you, guys, for sticking with me and saying such nice things about my stories! I _finally_ got this chapter right, I think. We'll see.**

 **The title of this chapter is from a song by 'Kansas', a song pretty widely known from the TV series 'Supernatural', which was where I first heard it. I think it fits the mood of this chapter pretty well.**

Peter was definitely disappointed with what was - or, more accurately, was _not_ \- found at the place Neal's anklet had been cut, a place that was less than a block away from his house. It wasn't like he really expected to find Neal sitting their just waiting to be caught, scissors and anklet in hand, but he had hoped to find _some_ sort of clue as to where the kid went.

The only thing at the scene was Neal's tracking anklet. It was in the middle of the street, the band cut and scratched up like it had been thrown out of a moving car, something that Neal did not have, but could have stolen. Agents were going door-to-door, asking neighbors about their cars to see if one of them were stolen, as well as asking them if they saw anything recently, suspicious or otherwise, that'd help them. It was placed in an evidence bag and taken back to the bureau to be analyzed and dusted for prints. The anklet hadn't been run over by any cars in the time it was in the street since traffic was light at this time of night and since the street was closed off within minutes of it being discarded. Traffic cameras within a twenty block radius were being checked as well, but it was unlikely that they'd find anything since no one knew what kind of car Neal was in.

Jones and Diana were smart enough not to question Peter about his line of investigation that involved Neal's innocence. They had seen firsthand the way that Neal had grown on Peter. And, against all odds, the kid had actually made a few friends with other agents as well. No, not everyone liked the idea of a teenage criminal catching other criminals, in fact a lot of people didn't, but agents Jones, Diana and Westley all liked Neal, and Peter also knew that Hughes had a soft spot of the troublesome kid. If he didn't, Neal wouldn't have lasted a week at the bureau.

Peter wasn't sure whether Neal ran or his father was the one to take him, though Elizabeth seemed to think that Neal being taken was more plausible than him running. Neal had seemed happy with where he was, so the kidnapping theory was a possibility. The FBI agent in him just wanted to check every lead before committing to a theory.

Elizabeth had insisted on coming and Peter didn't even put up much of a fight. She wasn't allowed to touch any possible evidence or question witnesses, but she could be there for support. It wasn't like she'd be able to get anything done at home anyway, not when Neal had just disappeared.

Peter felt like an idiot for not asking Neal about his father. He didn't want to make Neal talk about the man that had abused him - he didn't want to make him think of that bastard _at all_ \- but now he wished he pushed for information about Neal's father because now he had no leads about where Neal was.

Neal had said that his father was in jail, but Peter had no idea why he was in jail in the first place or how long his sentence was. Peter didn't even know what Neal's father's name was, or his mother's for that matter. He didn't know which jail Neal's father was in, if he even was still in jail. There were a lot of things Peter didn't know, and that was kind of terrifying. Neal could already be halfway to the Canadian border by now, and Peter had no idea why or who might have been with him. Peter just wanted Neal back, safe and bugging him by playing with his silly hat when Peter was trying to focus or thinking if ridiculous ways to catch the criminals they were after and smiling smugly when his inane plan ended up actually working.

Roadblocks and wanted posters were being put up - the wanted posters were the work of the Marshals since they didn't think for a second that Neal was taken by someone - but if Neal didn't want to be found, Peter doubted he would be. And if someone was helping him stay hidden, then their chances of finding him decreased even more.

WCWCWCWC

James, apparently deciding that Neal wouldn't run, didn't restrain Neal in any way once he was back in the car. He drove them to a no-tell motel that looked even dingier than the one Neal had stayed at before Peter caught him.

The room James led Neal to was sparsely furnished and had only one bed. There was no doubt in Neal's mind that he would be sleeping on the floor tonight. He had slept in worse places, he supposed - alleys, abandoned houses, steps of homes that he wished with all of his being he could go back to.

James strode in and went straight to the small, dinged up mini fridge and pulled out a cold beer, something that Neal knew he loved way more than his own son.

The sound of the bottle cap being twisted off, that terrible _hiss_ as the pressure differential equalized, and that horrible bitter smell that almost immediately assaulted his nostrils made Neal want to run out the door and never look back. It was all happening again, James was sucking Neal back into his pathetic excuse of a life and he couldn't do a thing about it. At least not yet. The first real chance Neal got to run, he would take it.

Out of habit, Neal peered past his father to see the amount of beer left and noted that there were two six-packs minus the bottle James just took out left in the fridge. That might be enough if James planned on not getting drunk, but if he did, Neal would have to make sure James had enough to drink. If there was one thing that truly set James off, it was when the fridge didn't have beer. Neal learned that the hard way.

Unfortunately, Neal doubted that James would let him leave the room without him, even if it was to get beer. It wasn't like Neal wouldn't take the opportunity to make a run for it if he did get the chance. Maybe James didn't plan on drinking too much. It was unlikely, given his track record, but possible if the man wanted to stay sober enough to watch Neal and make sure he didn't escape. James tended to pass out if he got drunk enough, which would be a great time to sneak away.

James sat on the only bed and leaned against the wall it was up against while he turned on the TV and started to flip through channels. Neal's father was a big fan of football, so he was probably planning on watching that. Neal had never cared for sports, just another thing about him that made James hate him.

There was a slightly unstable looking wooden chair by the door to the bathroom, so Neal went to sit on that. It creaked ominously under Neal's weight, but stayed in one piece.

With nothing to do, Neal's mind started to wander. He wondered what Peter and Elizabeth were doing right now, if they were worried about him or if they thought he had run and hated him for it. Maybe they were out looking for him now, maybe they were glad that he was no longer in their life. He hated to even consider it, but his father could be right. There were two scenarios waging war in Neal's mind and the heartbreaking one, the more realistic one, was winning.

What right did Neal even have to invade Peter and Elizabeth's perfect lives anyway? Why was he so special? He wasn't, he was weak and a coward and a criminal, just like his father had said so many times before. The man might be a bastard and a drunk, but his allegations made way more sense than two working-class citizens taking in a juvenile delinquent that wasn't worth their time or money.

James' voice brought Neal out of his desolate thoughts. "Get me another beer, boy," James ordered, telling Neal that his father was going through them quickly, which did not bode well for Neal.

Neal obediently got James his beer, but something caught his eye on his way back to his rickety chair - a notepad and pencil that were on the end table next to the bed. James had always discouraged Neal drawing, saying that his pictures were terrible and only 'homos' drew, the latter being completely inaccurate and very offensive to those with a different sexual orientation than the norm. Neal could not argue against the former and never really tried.

Neal loved to draw, but stopped after so many pictures ended up in the trash, as well as the beatings and insults, even when he tried to hide them from his father. It had always calmed his nerves, which were pretty tightly wound right now, but James would only yell at him if he saw him drawing, then he might end up getting physical after that. It simply wasn't worth it.

Neal sat down without the note pad and passed the time by thinking of ways to get away from his father. Slipping away while James was too drunk to notice could work, but the problem was not having enough beer in the first place. James' body was so used to beer that it usually took about fifteen bottles to get him buzzed and eighteen to twenty to get him pass-out drunk. The man could definitely hold his liquor.

Money for the beer could be a problem since not many people would be out at this time of night and in this weather. Also, the part of town they were in was not a good place to pickpocket since the people around here knew to look out for pickpockets. And of course there was the fact that he would be stealing from people that needed the money as well. Neal only felt comfortable stealing from those who could afford to loose some money, so taking from a person that needed the money possibly more than Neal would be difficult. They could have kids at home to feed, all Neal was avoiding was a possible beating, something that he had taken many times before, and giving him a small chance at escaping, which was risky since his father was even more unpredictable and violent when drunk.

Neal would run off if he was given a chance to leave anyway, so there wasn't much of a point to even think about stealing money. Only if James came with him to keep an eye on him would he think about stealing from someone.

Over the next hour, James had Neal bring him the other ten beers while he yelled at or cheered for players and coaches that couldn't even hear him as they played some sort of sport that involved getting a ball to one place or another. Neal couldn't think of a way to ask James if he could go get him some more beer for him without him getting angry, so he just stayed quiet while he idly watched the game, hoping the team that James was rooting for would win. He got angry and physical about that too, even though it wasn't Neal's fault.

Eventually the game was over, the team that James had been rooting for having, thankfully, won. But now James was out of beers and Neal was out of ideas.

Neal tensed and nearly held his breath in anticipation when James stood up and walked towards him, but he passed him and went over to the door leading to the bathroom. He put his hand on the knob and turned to look at Neal.

"Just remember, I know where those two bleeding hearts of yours live. You're stuck with me, kid. The sooner you realize it, the better it will be for the both of us," James said almost casually, then went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Neal's heart started pounding harder and harder in his chest as his father's words were repeated in his head over and over, the meaning of them quickly sinking in. Even though it was only a few words, Neal heard the threat for what it was - run and Peter and Elizabeth were dead.

There was no way Neal could run now, not when Peter and Elizabeth's lives were in danger. He couldn't even risk trying to get to them before James did, not if there was a chance of them getting hurt. If taking whatever James planned on throwing his way was the price of their safety, then Neal was going to have to just toughen up and take it.

Even if Elizabeth and Peter didn't want him back after all of this - which he understood, he really did, even if it was heartbreaking to even think about - he couldn't let them get hurt. Neal hadn't been able to save his mother, but he had the chance to save Peter and Elizabeth.

It was all his fault that their lives were in danger in the first place - if he hadn't made that deal with Peter, then he wouldn't have been in their lives to begin with. He didn't belong in their world, and they didn't deserve to be threatened by his father. They were good, honest people that shouldn't have even been shown the dark side of life to begin with.

Neal knew that all good things had to come to an end, but why did this one have to? Was he really not meant to have a happy ending? It didn't seem fair, but Neal finally realized with sudden clarity that he really was a criminal and criminals don't get happily-ever-afters. It really was a sad fate, one that Neal was reluctantly resigned to if it meant Peter and Elizabeth's safety, which was _far_ more important than Neal's safety or happiness.

James came back out of the bathroom and laid down on the single bed. Apparently two six-packs were enough for the night, Neal noticed with palpable relief. He was actually going to get away without a beating, which was very surprising. Yes, he hadn't actually done anything recently, but his father only needed the smallest of transgressions to set him off. And his father hadn't punished him for running yet, not really, and Neal knew that he wouldn't just let that go. He'd let it stew for a while until Neal started to believe that he might just get off the hook, then punish him when he didn't see it coming. It was cruel, which was normal behavior for his father.

He had actually been naïve enough to think that he could escape his father, actually be free of his abuse and cold but truthful words, but he was just fooling himself when he thought he could get away from his father's unyielding grasp. He would be stuck doing the man's bidding for his whole life, how ever long that would end up being. Between his fathers abuse and the risk of being killed during a heist or con, his life expectancy was pretty low.

Neal would just have to listen to his fathers orders to keep Peter and Elizabeth safe and maybe, just maybe, when they left the state he'd be able to run and warn the Burkes. It was the only hope he had left, a glimmer of light at the end of a very dark tunnel, one that he couldn't bare to lose.

 **Aww, poor Neal!**

 **If you guys don't already know, I ended up posting both stories I mentioned in the last chapter. I have three stories going now, so I'll trying not to leave any of them hanging too long. Sometimes I just don't have inspiration to write one, so I just go to the other. It's just how I work.**

 **Reviews make me smile!**


	16. Sinners And Saviors

**Thank you,** ** _Caffreyfan_** **, AKA my number 1 fan, for being my 300th review! Out of the 12 stories that I've posted, this one has, by far, been my most popular thanks to you guys! I know I have many other loyal followers as well as newcomers, and I love you all!**

 **It is so hard to not write Mozzie's name when I'm writing Haversham. Oh, BTW, Haversham is an alias of Mozzie's in case you didn't know. So when I say Haversham, I mean Mozzie.**

 **Since it took me just under a month to update, here's a really long chapter! Yay!**

Neal woke to the sound of a beer bottle shattering against the wall right above his head. He startled awake and covered his head as shards of glass showered all over him. No beer hit him, which didn't surprise Neal - his father wouldn't waste a full bottle of that precious alcohol on waking up his son, especially when he had so many empties laying around from the night before.

Neal cautiously moved his hands away and stared apprehensively at James as the man shut the door behind him after apparently coming back into the room. How had he not heard that? Neal had tuned his ears long ago to hear for the sound of a door opening or closing, signaling the arrival or departure of his father.

His father's cruel voice brought him out of his thoughts. "Wake up, boy," James ordered coldly. Unsurprisingly, James had two more cases of beer in his left hand, in his right, a paper grocery bag. He placed both on a table near the TV. "Get over here!" James yelled when he realized Neal hadn't gotten off of the floor.

Neal quickly climbed to his feet, wiping off as much glass as he could as he walked over to the other side of the table James was at, working some of the kinks out of his neck as well. Sleeping on the floor hadn't been very comfortable, but it wasn't like Neal was going to complain, not if he wanted to keep his bruises to a minimum.

James dumped the contents of the paper bag onto the table and Neal held back a sigh as he saw makings for fake ID's pour out. For how much James hated Neal drawing, he definitely had no problem with using his talent for forging ID's and signatures for checks. Forgeries, Neal could do. He knew that he was good at that, if the countless people fooled by them was any indication. Originals, not even close. He hadn't even really made any before and definitely hadn't since his mother died, who had actually encouraged his artistry.

"Get working. We'll need ID's after the heist," James said to Neal, then sat back down on the bed and turned on the TV.

With a soft sigh, Neal dragged the chair he had sat on the night before over to the table, sat down and started working on making the fake ID's. They were driver licenses for two people that lived in Vermont, Neal realized as he read James' sloppily scribbled instructions he had given him. They were going to leave the state after the heist, which would give Neal a chance to get away from James and warn Peter and Elizabeth before his father could hurt them. All he had to do was wait patiently for his moment.

James spent most of the day watching TV and drinking a few beers - not enough to get him drunk since he knew that he had to be sober enough to drive; the man did had priorities, after all - while Neal worked on the ID's. It was tedious work and it took all of Neal's focus. That was more than okay since all Neal would have ended up doing was dwell on his unfortunate situation or come up with stupid and dangerous plans to escape. He probably would have tried something by now if it was just his life at stake, but two innocent people could die if he tried to run with only half a plan.

It wasn't like Neal had the worst situation in the world anyway. He could have been starving and completely alone. No, that wasn't true. When Neal was living on the streets he was happier than he was now because he was free of his controlling father. Neal would have preferred to sleep in alleys or abandoned buildings if it meant he could be free of the man that both verbally and physically abused him on a daily basis. His new life was unfortunate, but he was willing to accept the price of freedom from his father for the safety of the only two people in his life he cared about.

WCWCWCWC

Peter had his head in his hands when his cellphone rang, the feeling of not being able to _do anything_ hanging over him like a dark cloud.

Besides Neal's own fingerprints, ERT had found a fingerprint on Neal's anklet that belonged to an ex-cop from St. Louis named James Bennett. Peter quickly learned that he was kicked off the force after he came in drunk to work and got into a physical altercation with his partner. He was also fired because he was suspected of killing the man that had murdered his wife. The man went missing soon after the cops ID'd him, but his body was never found and no one could stick the crime to James. Earlier this year, James did end up getting arrested for illegal gambling, but was released soon after due to some evidence dismissal BS, which just meant that he had someone of power in his pocket.

James' only living relative was a son by the name of Neal Bennett, who appeared to have taken his mother's maiden name after running away and coming to New York. Peter completely understood not wanting to be associated with his father at all after what the bastard had done to him. James hadn't even filed a missing persons report for Neal, just told his school that they were going on some sort of family vacation and wouldn't be back for a while.

Peter ended up punching a wall after reading the medical reports he had gotten ahold of from a hospital Neal had frequented in St. Louis, somehow not breaking his hand or the wall. How had no one seen that Neal had been abused? 'Skateboarding accident my ass,' Peter had thought angrily as he stared at the papers on his desk that told him so much - _too much_ \- about how Neal had suffered at the hand of his father. Broken bones, large cuts that needed stitches and severe colds that probably could have easily been avoided if Neal had been treated properly were in the file. Peter was sick to his core by the time he had finished reading.

No way was Peter going to tell Elizabeth, who had easily convinced Peter to let her come to the office with him, about what he had read. It was just too heartbreaking.

It was coming on twenty-four hours since Neal's disappearance. Peter knew the statistics, knew that the odds dropped drastically when they hit the twenty-four hour mark. It was eating up at him that he may never see Neal again. He didn't even know what the kid was going through. If James' track record was any indication, he was not treating Neal properly, like a father should, like _Peter_ would.

Not bothering to check the caller ID, Peter accepted the call before the second ring and put the phone to his ear. "Burke," he said, hoping that this was the break he was looking for. There was nothing that the lab was analyzing and no leads that other agents were checking, so Peter didn't really think that there was a good chance that this call would tell him anything he could use to find Neal. Sometimes it wasn't a bad thing to be wrong.

An ominous and deep voice that was obviously the work of a voice changer came out of the speaker of Peter's phone and piqued the agent's interest immediately. "Don't say another word, just listen," the voice said, then went on when Peter held his breath and didn't say anything. "I know where Neal Caffrey is."

Peter's heart-rate skyrocketed and he leapt out of his chair as adrenaline rushed through his veins. "Where is he? Do you have him?" Peter asked immediately, not even thinking to listen to the voices demand. If this person knew where Neal was, he was damn sure going to get answers out of him.

"I said no talking!" the voice shouted angrily. Peter shut his mouth with an audible click, a little taken aback by the sudden attitude change, and waited for the mysterious voice to continue. "He will be at a car junkyard on 1104 birchwood drive at ten tonight...So will his father," the person added with a note of warning. The man - if this person was, in fact, a man - had obviously met Neal's father and knew how ruthless he could be.

Peter lifted his wrist to check his watch. It was just before eight. Neal and his father were expected to be at the junkyard in two hours, which would give Peter enough time to set up a team to search the the place for Neal.

Peter had a million questions for this mysterious person, but he asked the one that had been running circles in his head the moment he had heard that Neal was gone. "Is he okay?" he asked with trepidation even though he wasn't supposed to talk.

"Didn't I already tell you to _not_ talk?" the voice asked, sounding quite exasperated. Knowing it was a rhetorical question, Peter didn't answer, just waited as he dredged up the last remaining patience he had. "He will be if you get to him in time," the mysterious voice eventually said, concern clear even in his altered voice.

"Why are you telling me this?" Peter continued to prod. He wanted to know why someone would just willingly hand over information about Neal's whereabouts without wanting something in return. Was it a trap? Even if it was, Peter was still going to that junkyard.

"You _really_ are terrible at this," the voice said, then didn't speak for several moments. Peter let the question hang in the air as he waited for an answer. "I don't do business with bastards, and I sure as hell won't stand idly by while a kid gets hurt when I could do something about it," he eventually said, his anger towards James very clear.

"Thank you," Peter said, risking to speak up again.

"Just save him, suit," the voice said, much softer than before. The next thing Peter heard was what sounded a like gravel under tires, then a dial tone.

Grabbing his gun, keys and cell phone, Peter rushed out of his office, determined to bring Neal back to his family safe and sound.

WCWCWCWC

When the time finally came to go to the meeting spot, Neal and James packed their few belongings and drove to a gravel parking lot that had seen better days, getting there right at eight pm. Looking around, Neal could only see one other vehicle there - a dark green mini van that looked quite worn down.

Haversham came out of the van when Neal and James walked up to the vehicle, his eyes shifting nervously as he put his phone away. Paranoid seemed to be his default setting, like he expected people in ski masks to come and take him to their underground facility for questioning any moment.

James did not seem pleased to see what their transportation was going to be. "I thought you said you had a van," he said, anger clear in his voice.

"I did. This is a _mini_ van. Much less conspicuous," Haversham said, nodding in agreement with himself.

"Do you _really_ expect me to drive that?" James asked as he eyed the mini van with open disdain.

"Don't worry, your masculinity will remain intact if you do so," Haversham said, guessing correctly as to why James did not want to drive the van.

Neal had to stifle a smile at James being mocked. It wasn't often when someone talked back to the volatile man and Neal had to admit, it was satisfying to see.

James glared fiercely at Haversham while the bespectacled man shifted nervously under his gaze, unsure if he had crossed a line, but James chose not to do anything. If Neal had said that, he would have been beaten then and there, no matter if he was needed for a theft or not.

Eventually, James sighed and reluctantly nodded, obviously not liking his choice of vehicle but realizing there was nothing he could do about it now.

With the transportation issue settled, Haversham showed Neal the blueprints and Neal quickly memorized the route to where the statuette was being stored. For such an expensive piece, their security sucked. They were probably trying not to attract attention to where the statuette was by keeping the security at a minimum, something that quite a few security companies did. Smart if you were able to keep the location quiet, stupid if you had loose-lipped employees that didn't agree with their last paycheck.

"Just crawl through the vents and wait for my signal to leave them. You'll have about five minutes after that to obtain the fair goddess and get back in the vent," Haversham explained to Neal while James watched them a few steps away.

Neal knew that five minutes was enough for him to get the statuette and get back in the vents. He shot James a nervous look, then took a risk by asking, "What's the signal?"

"You'll know," Haversham answered vaguely, a secretive smile curving his lips. He was obviously excited for whatever he had planned. As long as no one got hurt, Neal was fine with whatever distraction. Haversham didn't seem like the type to hurt someone, though, so Neal was confident that it wouldn't involve any casualties.

Neal had thought that this heist was actually going to be pretty easy until he saw how small the vents were. "You want me to try to fit through that? It's too small, I won't fit," he said as he examined the dimensions of the vents on the blueprints. He hadn't ever tried to fit through a vent that small. No wonder neither Haversham or James thought that they could - it would be nearly impossible for Neal to.

The thought of actually getting stuck in one of those tight corners made Neal shutter a little. It wasn't like he was claustrophobic or anything, but actually being trapped somewhere and not able to escape was a little terrifying. Thinking about that brought up an unwanted memory, one had thought he had long since erased from his mind, of being locked in a dark closet after he had told his father that he wouldn't steal from someone for the first time, back before his father had taught him how to pick locks. He shook his head slightly, blocking those memories as best as he could so he could focus.

Then James was suddenly there, grabbing the front of Neal's shirt and slamming his back against the side of the van, aggravating bruises from yesterday's similar attack. "You don't have a say in how this goes down, you hear me? All you need to do is go in there and get the damn statuette," James growled in Neal's face.

Haversham took a half-step forward, almost as if he wanted to do something to stop James. "Hey, we really don't have to get physical, do we? I'm sure the kid'll listen to reason if you just talk things out," Haversham said, clearly nervous about James becoming physical. For the first time since this whole mess started, Neal saw a possible person to help him out. Would Haversham really stick his neck out to help him? He had no reason to.

Without letting go of Neal, James straightened to his full height, which wasn't too impressive, but he still ended up standing taller than Haversham. " _Don't_ you tell me how to talk to my son. I'll do what I want with him," he told Haversham, his tone menacing.

From behind thick rims, Haversham's eyes darted from James' threatening stare to Neal's slightly hopeful face, then back again. "Right, sorry I said anything," he muttered dismissively, and Neal's tiny spark of hope died as he backed away from father and son.

With Haversham's minor protest taken care of, James turned his glare back to Neal. Neal wanted to move away as well, but the van and James' solid grip were stopping him.

Neal had to speak very carefully to not anger his father even more. "I don't think I'll be able to fit," he said, his voice much smaller than James'.

In retrospect, Neal realized going against James' idea was not a smart move. A fist propelled by anger and hatred hit Neal in the chest with painful and breathtaking force, pulling a airless sound from Neal's throat. Neal wasn't positive, but he thought he might have heard or even felt something important snap. The pain was more than enough for something to have broken, so it was quite possible James had managed to crack or break a rib. The bastard did have a strong punch.

"If you don't crawl through the vent and get that stupid statue that's more valuable than you'll ever _dream_ to be, I'll get my belt out. And you know I'm not lying," James threatened as Neal panted and sagged against the van while trying to get his breath back. Past James, Neal could see Haversham looking sick at the sight before him, his eyes widening in surprise and fear as he heard the threat. But he didn't do anything to stop it. No one ever did.

James knew that Neal feared his belt the most. That threat always got him to do things that others didn't. Neal swallowed hard and nodded silently while keeping his gaze on the small white rocks below them, once again allowing his father's threats of violence to control him. It wasn't what his newly-found and quickly diminishing pride was telling him to do, but his more reliable preservation instinct and cowardice was telling him to do whatever it took to please his father.

"That's what I thought," James said a little smugly, then let go of Neal - who backed away several steps while cradling his sore ribs - and turned to Haversham. "You see, Haversham, all you have to do is give the kid _perspective_ about what the consequences would be if he disobeyed. He's knows better than to go against me when pain is in his future if he does."

Haversham nodded a little timidly, eyes shifting nervously, obviously not liking the way James handled things, but either too scared do anything or he just didn't care about Neal's fate to go against him.

With their plan set up, Haversham, James and Neal took the van to the warehouse that housed the statuette and Neal made his way to the ceiling-high vents that were around back. Even though the vents were very small, Neal was able to crawl army-style through them quicker than he had expected, even with his bruises ribs that hurt with every movement. Even though it was a tight fit, he didn't end up getting stuck once, which was a major relief.

Neal was almost to the exit to the vent when he heard what had to have been an explosion. He felt a slight tremor vibrate through the building, but everything stayed in place. That must have been the signal.

Neal didn't see any guards outside of the vent, so he quickly unscrewed the vent cover, quietly placed it outside of the vent and dropped onto the ground with his usual grace despite his hurt ribs. Knowing he only had five minutes, Neal silently crept to where the statuette was being stored.

Neal was in awe as he carefully pulled the statuette of Aphrodite out of the shipping crate she had been stored in. She was a truly beautiful work of art, the simplicity of the design making her even more breathtaking. Neal knew that he didn't have time to truly admire her, so he stored the goddess in the messenger bag he had brought with him and snuck back into the vent, crawling back the way he came.

The van was still parked right by the entrance to the vent, with James in the driver seat. Right as Neal dropped to the ground, Haversham came running around the corner of the building, a panicked expression on his face.

"We have to go - now!" he yelled as he ran towards the van. Neal's quickly ran up to the side of the van and yanked the sliding door open. He waited until Haversham was in before jumping in himself. James was pressing on the gas before Neal even made it all the way in the vehicle, the tires squealing for a moment as they struggled to find traction before taking off.

As Neal closed the sliding door, he could see two very angry looking security guards round the corner Haversham had just come around, one of them talking quickly on the radio on his shoulder. The both had guns, but the van was too far away to try to shoot.

"Do you have it?" James asked urgently as he looked back and forth between his son through the rear-view mirror and the road ahead of him.

"Yeah," Neal said a little breathlessly as he patted the bag that was resting on his hip, his adrenaline pumping from the theft. It was thrilling to get away with something like this, to outsmart the authorities. Neal allowed himself a small smile as he enjoyed the rush of a successful heist.

"Did we lose them?" Haversham asked from his spot in the bucket seat next to the one Neal was sitting in as he craned his head around to look out the back of the van for any car that might have been following them.

"No one is following us," James assured Haversham.

"Good, now take us to rendezvous spot number two," Haversham told James, who didn't usually take orders but seemed to make an exception.

James made a sudden course-correction and Neal and Haversham had to hold onto the armrest of the seats they were sitting in so they weren't thrown around the vehicle. James' driving had never been very good, and that was when they weren't speeding away from the scene of a crime.

Once they were a little ways away, James slowed down to the speed limit so he didn't raise any suspicion. He seemed to be driving with no real destination, probably making sure that they weren't follow and to throw the police off if they showed up on any CCTV footage. After some more driving, they reached their destination, which was a car junkyard near the river for some unknown reason. Neal really hadn't been given very much information about any of the plan, which was quite annoying, but it wasn't like he was stupid enough to complain.

All three individuals got out of the vehicle and Neal looked around to get his bearings. Piles and piles of crushed cars surrounded them on all sides, their mass making it seem like there was no end of them in sight. Broken parts of junked cars also littered the ground around them.

James snatched the messenger bag from Neal to examine the statuette as Haversham walked off somewhere. "This baby will fetch a _very_ pretty penny," James said as he admired the statuette. Neal could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes, but resisted rolling his eyes in case his father saw.

Neal startled when he heard a nearby crane power up. He looked over to see that Haversham was in control as he maneuvered the giant magnet attached to the end of the crane until it was above the van they had just vacated.

Neal quickly backed up as the magnet started emitting a loud humming sound. The van suddenly lifted from the ground and attached to the magnet, then Haversham used the magnet to bring the van to a giant crusher. The odd man then hopped off the crane and fired up the crusher, destroying the getaway van and any evidence they might have left.

Neal lost Haversham at that point, the bald man disappearing behind one of the many piles of crushed cars. He reappeared a minute later with two different keys swinging from his fingers.

"Well, our former ride has been taken care of," Haversham stated, looking satisfied, but still quite edgy. Actually, if it was possible, he seemed even more shifty and paranoid than he had before. He kept looking over his shoulder and not once met Neal or James' eyes.

"Did you get that fence lined up?" James asked, finally looking away from the statuette.

"Yeah. I know a guy who knows a guy who-" James' pointed glare hurried Haversham up. "Anyway, this gal will get the goddess out of the country, no problem," he assured, sounding confident.

"Double-cross me with that money and you'll regret it," James said in the same voice that he had used the night before to threaten Peter and Elizabeth's life. The tone and memory sent a chill down Neal's spine and brought the reason why he was putting up with his father's cruelty to the forefront of his mind.

"Your money will be were you requested by Monday," Haversham promised, nodding solemnly.

"Good, now where's a car for me?" James asked as he reluctantly handed over the statuette, giving it a look of love and longing that Neal had never gotten. Neal knew he reached a new low when he became jealous of a inanimate object, no matter how beautiful and valuable it was.

Haversham waved his hand to the right. "There's a car around that corner for the two of you." He tossed one of the two keys he had to James, who caught it easily.

James started walking that way and Neal obediently followed with a lowered head and pocketed hands, but Haversham's voice stopped them. "Going so soon?" he said, his casual voice a little too forced to be real. Neal knew something was up, but he wasn't sure what. What was this guy playing at?

"Yeah, I'd rather not be in the state when the cops pick up on our trail," James said, getting a little annoyed by Haversham's interruption.

"But-" Haversham started, but James' intimidating glare silenced him. "Safe travels," he called after them when James and Neal started walking away again. The path Haversham pointed out ran right along the river, but Neal wasn't paying too much attention to his surroundings at the moment. Instead, he was thinking of ways to escape once they left the state.

The best time Neal could think of to make a run for it would be when they stopped for gas or food. Maybe he could even lift the car keys from James and use the vehicle in front of them to escape when the time was right. It had been years since Neal had been caught pickpocketing and it wasn't like James was always alert.

James stopped suddenly, pulling Neal from his thoughts. "I know you're thinking of a way to escape - probably even came up with some half-assed plans already - so I'm going to just put a stop to that now," James said, taking another hated zip-tie out of his back pants pocket.

Knowing that fighting James would be pointless and stupid, Neal resignedly turned around and offered his wrists to his father. James quickly fastened the zip-tie around Neal's already bruised wrists, tightening it enough so he wouldn't be able to slip it off, or even move his wrists for that matter.

"Now neither of us have to worry you misbehaving," James said contently, satisfied that Neal would behave now, which was only partly true. This was going to delay Neal's escape, but he had always been good at slipping away unnoticed, something that James had used to his benefit many times in the past.

James steered Neal towards the car once again and Neal let his mind drift back to ways to get away from his father. He'd have to work even harder to get away now, but if James let him out of the restraints to eat or use the restroom, then he might be able to run then.

Neal's thoughts of escape were interrupted by a familiar and welcome voice shouting from behind them and changing everything. "FBI! Freeze!"

 **Oops, did I stop at another cliffhanger? My bad, *evil cackle*.**


	17. Second Breath

**Wow, it's been way too long since I've updated! Sorry about that! I've been working on this chapter for a while so I could get it just right. I hope it was worth the wait!**

Peter, Jones, Diana and two other trusted agents stalked through the car junkyard, their guns in hand and at the ready. Piles of crushed cars were left and right and it was almost as if they were in an endless maze as they tried to navigate the large junkyard.

Peter prayed that the mysterious tip he'd gotten wasn't just a wild goose chase, or even a trap. He was starting to lose the hope he barely allowed himself to have until finally, around one last corner, he spotted Neal and James walking towards what seemed to be the only non-crushed car in the whole yard.

Peter's anger towards James escalated ten-fold when he saw that Neal's hands were tied behind his back with a zip-tie. What kind of father would restrain his own son?

"FBI! Freeze!" Peter yelled, his gun unwavering as he pointed it at James. Jones, Diana and the other agents stood on either side of him, their guns leveled at James as well.

James and Neal turned around, both surprised by the newcomers. The father's expression quickly changed to anger while the son's had relief lighting up his face, but it was short-lived.

Without any hesitation, James grabbed the collar of Neal's dark jacket and yanked him in front of himself, pulling a gun out of nowhere and pointing it at his son's head as he did.

Somehow, in a split second, they were once again in the same harrowing situation that they had been in a few months ago. But this was Neal's father holding a gun to his own son's head, not some cocky criminal that barely knew him.

Neal's startled blue eyes stared at Peter's concerned brown ones, terror so clear in those oceanic orbs. Neal knew what James was capable of, knew that he wouldn't hesitate shooting his own son to get away. Peter could see it in James' cold blue eyes as well.

"Get back! I _will_ shoot him!" James yelled, his hand steady as he pointed the gun at Neal's head, his words reinforcing Peter's fears.

Neal was stiff and tense against James, not daring to move an inch. Looking closer, Peter spotted a dark bruise that was blossoming on Neal's left cheek, which angered the agent even more, but he simmered down the fury he felt as best as he could so he could focus on getting Neal back.

Peter signaled the other agents to back up a few steps and did so as well. "Put the gun down, James," Peter said, his firm voice a contradiction to the turmoil within. He had been trained in hostage negotiation, he had even been in a similar situation with Neal a few months prior, but this was Neal's _father_ threatening to kill him. It changed everything and made a horrible situation even more stomach-churning.

James' gun had its safety off, his aim and resolve unwavering, finger poised on the trigger, ready to squeeze it if he had to. There was a scary amount of determination in his eyes, telling Peter that he was willing to do whatever it took to get away free. It didn't matter that it was his own son that would die at his own hand.

Peter just needed the smallest reason to put James down. He'd be doing the world a favor. The man didn't deserve an intelligent, kind, admittedly stubborn kid like Neal. He deserved to be locked away for the rest of his miserable life, never able to terrorize Neal ever again.

Peter wanted to reassure Neal, tell him that everything was going to be okay even though he really wasn't sure how any of this would turn out, but he had to keep his emotions in check so he could be Agent Burke and take James down and save Neal from a man that he never should have needed to be saved from.

James backed closer to the concrete retaining wall behind him, taking a fearful Neal with him. Peter took a step forward, but stopped himself before he got too close.

Neal was smaller than James, so he wasn't the best human shield, but Peter still didn't have a good enough shot that didn't risk Neal getting hit as well, and that was _not_ acceptable.

"Don't tempt me, Burke. I've thought of doing this for _years_ and I sure as _hell_ wouldn't lose any sleep over it," James said coldly as Neal blinked back tears, his father's words hitting hard.

James knew him by name, which meant he probably knew a lot about him, and Elizabeth. How long had James been watching them before he had kidnapped Neal?

"Put the gun down and you can walk out of here alive," Peter offered even though all he wanted to do was put one between the man's soulless eyes. He just wanted Neal safe and in his arms and was more than willing to kill James to have Neal safe again.

"I don't think so," James said, shaking his head as he backed up a few more steps. Then, without warning, James roughly shoved Neal toward the ledge and ran towards the un-crushed car that was in the distance, shooting at and, thankfully, missing agents to cover his escape.

Momentum propelled Neal backwards and he could do nothing to stop his descent. The last thing Peter saw of Neal was blue eyes wide with fear as he fell over the edge and into the choppy water below.

"Neal!" Peter yelled as he took a step forward, already knowing it was far too late to save Neal from falling in.

Peter wanted to chase after James and catch the bastard, but Neal was far more important than that and he reminded himself that had other agents to take care of James.

"Go after James - I got Neal! And call an ambulance!" Peter yelled as he dropped his gun, pulled off his coat and jacket simultaneously, his gun holster falling away immediately after. He was using precious seconds by taking these things off, but they'd only slow him down once he was in the water. He had to do this right if he wanted both of them to make it back to the shore alive.

Peter then ran over to the ledge that Neal had fallen over and forced himself to look down, but all he saw was dark, sloshing water. Neal was nowhere to be seen. The zip-tie Neal had around his wrists was probably stopping him from being able to fight the current and swim to the surface. Peter swallowed against his rising fear as he steeled himself for the freezing water.

Jones ran up to stand next to Peter, being more weary of James, who was now somewhere around another corner and out of sight, than the older agent was. "Peter, you're not seriously thinking about going in there, are you? The waters got to be freezing!" Jones said, thinking logically instead of emotionally.

"Neal's in there - I don't have another choice!" Peter said to his junior agent. In Peter's mind, that was more than enough reason to jump in.

Jones hesitated for another moment, then nodded briskly and pulled out his phone to call for an ambulance.

Diana was shouting orders in the distance, telling James to drop the gun, but Peter paid no mind to that. His only goal was to save Neal.

Peter took the flashlight he had brought with him out of his pocket, thanking himself for making an impulsive buying decision from an infomercial that advertised a waterproof, crushproof, bright-as-the-sun flashlight late one night when he was going over a tough case.

If Peter made it to Neal in time, Elizabeth wasn't going to be able to complain about his late-night shopping choices ever again. No, there was no _if_. Neal was going to be fine. Peter was going to save him and they were going to be a family, just the three of them, and Satchmo, of course.

With the flashlight on and in hand, Peter took a deep, steadying breath and dove into the water Neal had disappeared into.

The moment Peter breached the surface, he could feel the freezing cold water cut into him, like a million little pinpricks piercing every inch of his skin. His lungs tightened and told him to release the air he had, but he resisted and swam farther down.

Peter allowed the current to take him farther downstream, knowing that Neal would be that way. He waved the beam of light left and right as he swam deeper, but couldn't see Neal. Even if the flashlight was supposedly the best money could buy, it was still doing very little to help see through the murkiness of the polluted river water.

Peter's lungs were screaming for him to go back to the surface, but he was determined to find Neal and not willing to face the consequences of failing. Precious seconds ticked by as Peter doggedly searched for Neal.

Just as Peter was about to reluctantly swim back to the surface to get air before diving back down, he saw a shadow some five feet in front of him. Hopeful, Peter ignored the screaming of his lungs and swam over to the shadow.

It was Neal! But the sight that greeted Peter was a terrifying one. Neal's eyes were closed, blue lips parted slightly as his dark hair floated around him and framed his pale face, the bruise on his cheek even more vivid against his colorless skin. He wasn't kicking or trying to get to the surface. He hadn't gotten out of the restraints, but there was some blood mingling with the water near his wrists, telling Peter that he'd fought like hell to escape.

Not stopping to freak out about his condition, Peter got a firm grip on Neal's arm and kicked to the surface as fast as he could with the extra weight of his precious cargo and black dots invading his vision.

Peter gasped and sputtered the moment he reached the surface, drinking in much needed air, but Neal didn't. He didn't make a noise, didn't start kicking, didn't do anything but continue to be a dead weight in Peter's arms. _Dead_. A shiver shot down Peter's spine that had nothing to do with the freezing water he was treading in.

Looking around, Peter realized that the current had taken them farther away from shore than he had expected, but he knew he'd be able to make it there with his last remaining strength that the freezing water was quickly leaching from him. There was no other option.

Turning onto his back and pulling Neal against his chest to keep the kid's head out of the water, Peter started to back-stroke towards shore with his free arm.

"Hold on, kid," he whispered in Neal's ear as he tried not to think about being too late already. He wasn't too late, he couldn't be...

Peter's joints felt frozen stiff by the time he made it to the retaining wall that Neal had fallen over. Jones and Diana were at the edge when he made it there, ready to assist. Diana pulled Neal out of the water with surprising ease and Jones had little trouble helping Peter out as well.

Peter wondered for a moment where James might have been if both of them were here, but the thought was gone just as quick as it came when he completely got on land and was able to get to Neal.

Ignoring the tremors vibrating through his body, Peter immediately went to where Diana had placed Neal and checked for a pulse. It was there. He just wasn't breathing. He wasn't _breathing_.

Trying his best to remember all of the first aid training he'd gotten over the years, Peter first turned Neal's head to the side to let the water drain out of his mouth and nose, then straighten Neal's head and tilted it back to open up his airway. Finally, Peter pinched Neal's nose shut and blew two long breaths into his mouth. His chest rose, but he didn't start breathing on his own.

Peter continued rescue breathing, filling Neal's lungs with air. He continued until his own lungs begged for air, but he didn't stop, he wouldn't, not until Neal was breathing on his own, not until he was up and doing tricks with his silly hat and pushing Peter's buttons in a way only he could. Diana and Jones urged him to stop, telling him that they'd take over, but Peter refused to quit, refused to give up, not when he'd finally gotten Neal back.

Right as Peter was about to try to breathe for Neal again, Neal's whole body came to life as he sucked in a huge gulp of air. He then coughed as his lungs tried to expel the dirty river water he had inhaled, his back arching to gain leverage.

Peter quickly turned Neal onto his side so he could breathe and cough the water out easier. Jones bent down on the other side of Neal and cut the zip-tie with one deft slice of his Swiss Army knife, then backed up to give them space.

Peter patted Neal's back as the kid trembled and coughed in an attempt to comfort him. Sirens could be heard in the distance, their high-pitched whine a welcome sound. Despite himself, Peter felt a small smile grace his face. Neal was okay, he was _alive_.

A pale, trembling hand reached out and took ahold of Peter's sodden pant leg. "P'ter," came Neal's small, hoarse voice as he gazed up at Peter with glazed eyes. Another round of hacking shot through Neal's body and Peter couldn't stop himself from pulling Neal into a tight but careful hug, grateful to be able to just _feel_ him again. Only an hour ago, Peter hadn't been sure he'd ever be able to see Neal again and now he was in his arms, trembling, coughing, but _alive_.

"It's okay, it's okay. You're okay," Peter said soothingly as he rocked Neal back and forth slightly, hot tears of relief threatening to fall from his eyes. Diana retrieved Peter's forgotten coat and jacket and placed the former on Neal's shoulders and the latter on Peter's. Peter smiled his thanks as he continued to hold Neal and make sure the dry clothes didn't fall from his slender, shaking frame.

Neal grabbed at Peter's soaked shirt, hands searching. "Wet," he murmured into the older man's shoulder, sounding confused.

Peter nodded, cupping the back of Neal's soaked head. "Yeah, I know, but an ambulance is on its way and you'll be warm and dry in no time," he reassured him. Things really could have ended so much worse, but Peter chose not to dwell on the could-haves, at least not here, not yet.

Neal squirmed in Peter's grip until he let go enough for Neal to be able to look up at the agent in confusion. "No... _you're_ wet," he said, brow furrowed as he touched Peter's shirt some more, apparently unable to figure out why Peter was wet as well.

Peter barked out a teary laugh. "Someone had to get you out of the water," he said as he wiped a few stray hairs from Neal's still pale face.

Neal seemed quite surprised by Peter's answer, but then smiled a warm, unguarded smile. He then burrowed into Peter shoulder and let himself relax. "Saved me," he murmured, relief and contentment clear even in his muffled voice.

"Always, Neal, always," Peter said as he rubbed Neal's shivering back, promising to always protect the boy in his arms and never let him get hurt ever again.

 **Reviews make me smile!**


	18. Family Matters

**I know no one wants to hear this, but this story is just about wrapped up. There will one chapter after this one, but then that's it! It's been one heck of a ride, and I couldn't have done it without you guys! Thank you for sticking around!**

Ten minutes after the ambulance arrived and Peter had, very reluctantly, let go of Neal so the paramedics could take care of him, Neal was laying on a gurney next to the ambulance, covered in warm blankets and heating packs as well as hooked up to a heated saline drip, all to warm him back up after falling in the nearly-freezing waters.

Peter had quickly changed into a dry FBI sweatshirt and matching sweatpants that Jones had had in his car and also had a large, warm blanket wrapped around himself. He hadn't been in the water as long, so he didn't need anything more than that, no matter what the paramedics had said. The only thing getting covered in blankets and connected to an IV would accomplish was Peter not being able to be as close to Neal, and that was _not_ going to happen.

Not being burdened by a plethora of warming equipment, Peter was able to stand close to Neal, who was still so startlingly pale. At least his lips weren't blue anymore. The image of Neal's lifeless body in the water was burned into Peter's memory and was sure to haunt his dreams for weeks to come.

"Neal!" Elizabeth suddenly called, appearing out of nowhere to embrace Neal. The kid looked a bit overwhelmed as Elizabeth nearly smothered him to death, but also very glad to see her. Neal couldn't return the hug because of the cocoon of blankets he was wrapped up in, but he seemed more than happy to receive her love.

Peter turned his gaze to Diana, who was standing next to a couple of nearby SUV's, and by that knowing, satisfied smile on her face, she was responsible for calling Elizabeth and getting her here. Peter once again nodded his thanks, grateful for his amazing and thoughtful team.

"We were so worried!" Elizabeth said when she finally pulled away, then looked Neal over with a worried and critical eye. "You _are_ okay, right?"

Neal nodded tiredly. "Yeah," he said, his voice still raspy and weak.

Both Neal and Peter would need antibiotics since they had inhaled the dirty river water that had all sorts of nasty things in there and Neal was going to go to the hospital for further treatment, but they both should be fine. Things really could have turned out so much worse.

Peter did wish that he could have had the chance to thank the mystery caller that had given him the tip on Neal's location in person. Perhaps someday he would.

Elizabeth smiled lovingly, then turned her concerned gaze to Peter. "You're okay too, right, hon?" she asked as she grabbed his hand, which was still very cold, if Elizabeth's deepened frown and second hand holding his was any indication.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Peter assured Elizabeth, more than understanding her current priorities. She had seen Peter a few hours ago, but Neal had been missing over a day, which seemed like forever when your child was missing.

Their child, the one to teach and protect. That really was what Peter thought of Neal. Maybe they'd be able to make it official soon, if Neal wanted them, that was. Peter wasn't sure where things stood at this moment, but all that really mattered was that Neal was safe and was never going to be hurt by James ever again. That, he'd make sure of.

"What happened to Bennett?" Peter had asked a few minutes earlier, not letting his gaze shift from Neal for more than a second.

"He tried to get away in a nearby car, but it wouldn't start. We caught him, boss," Diana had informed Peter, a satisfied smirk on her face. Peter didn't doubt that James was a little more bruised than he had been before getting caught, which made the elder agent smile a bit, too.

"Good," he had responded, then focused all of his attention back to Neal.

A sudden commotion drew Peter's attention away from the reunion in front of him. James was resisting Jones and another agent that were trying to get the man over to an SUV for transport. He was twisting and bucking in their grasps in an attempt to get away from them, but he didn't seem to be winning. Neither of the agents were lightweights, and Peter knew they had things under control.

As they passed the trio by the ambulance, James curled his lip in disgust as he gazed at Neal, who flinched as far away as he could in his restricted state. Then he aimed his glare at Peter when the agent stepped between Neal and James, shielding the kid from his enraged father. "You should have let him drown. Would have done the world a favor," James spat angrily at Peter.

The moment Peter saw James, he was blinded by rage and the words that left the man's mouth just fueled that hatred, like throwing gasoline on a fire. With a deep, furious growl, Peter charged towards James, intent on doing some serious damage.

"Peter, stop!" Peter vaguely heard Elizabeth call after him, her voice of deep concern with a fair amount of anxiety, but another voice also cut through his haze of revenge and rage.

"Don't, Peter!"

Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, it was Neal's voice, raw and quiet as it was, that stopped Peter from attacking James.

Stopping for a moment, Peter half-turned to look at Neal's pale, fearful face as the kid struggled to sit up. "He's not worth it, Peter," he said, his small, hoarse voice somehow carrying so much emotion and reasoning.

Peter turned back to James, knowing that Neal was right. "He's right, you're not worth it," Peter growled at James, his hatred towards the man outweighed by his love for Neal and Elizabeth, two people that he couldn't risk loosing if he did something too impulsive. "You aren't even _half_ the person that your son is, and you'll get what's coming to you, I promise you that," Peter vowed with a unwavering point of his finger, then walked back to his family as the two agents holding James drug the sputtering and still struggling man away.

Elizabeth smiled at him lovingly while Neal looked at him with the same awe that Peter'd seen in that juvenile detention center when he had yelled at that idiot guard, which seemed like so long ago now. Deeper in that expression Peter could see that Neal seemed surprised and quite possibly proud of Peter for listening to him, which made Peter feel proud in return for some reason.

Elizabeth took ahold of Peter's arm once he was closer, her warmth, physical and emotional, more than welcoming. "Strength and bravery are not always seen in action, but in restraint," she whispered to Peter, reminding him that her wisdom ran deeper than he sometimes even realized.

"Thank you, Peter," Neal rasped out, the rawness of his voice not completely able to be blamed on the trauma he'd just gone through.

Peter just put his hand on the top of Neal's head - still careful not to move too quickly when reaching out for Neal - then frowned at the coldness still there. He was just about to ask the paramedics when they'd be ready to go when one of them said they were prepared to take Neal to the hospital now, so Peter and Elizabeth reluctantly let him go with promises to be at the hospital waiting for him.

Both Peter and Elizabeth would have preferred to go with Neal, but they knew they'd only be in the way of the paramedics doing their job, and would be able to see Neal soon enough. That didn't stop Peter from using his sirens to keep up with the ambulance the whole way to the hospital.

 **The next and last chapter should be up tomorrow, barring any unforeseen distractions, so be ready!**

 **Reviews are nearly as wonderful as puppy kisses!**


	19. There's A Way

**Here it is - the last chapter! It took over a year to finish, but I got it done! I really couldn't have done it without you guys' help and support!**

Neal had to stay the night at the hospital for observation and Peter and Elizabeth stayed with him until he was released, much to Neal surprise and nearly masked pleasure. Peter had to flash his badge a few times at doctors and nurses that asked them to leave, but they eventually stopped pestering them about it, clearly knowing a lost cause when they saw one. A nice, young nurse that Peter was pretty sure had a crush on Neal even gave them some pillows and blankets to make their stay more comfortable.

Peter almost regretted not acting on his violent urges by pounding James into the ground when he heard the damage he had done to his own son. Widespread bruising to Neal's abdomen, some on his back, a cracked rib underneath that, and bruises on his face were only the physical damage he had sustained. Peter worried about the psychological damage Neal had suffered at the hands of his father. But he had Peter and Elizabeth now, and they'd work through whatever came up.

After Neal was released and the three of them arrived back home, they made a quick and simple lunch and ate mostly in silence. The atmosphere surrounding them was a bit tense and unsure, like no one knew what to say to fill the silence anymore. Before Neal had been kidnapped, things were easy and they all talked with familiar ease. Now it seemed as if any topic was unstable and unable to be discussed. But Peter had hope that he'd find their footing once again, like they had before when everything was new and a different kind of abnormal.

After the last couple of days Peter'd had, the agent decided a beer during lunch would be alright to have to help destress, but when Peter twisted the cap open, the compressed air escaping in a hiss, Neal flinched so badly that he nearly fell out of his chair. Shaking all of a sudden, Neal stared at the beer in Peter's hand like it was a reincarnation of James or something.

Startled by Neal's reaction, Elizabeth looked at Peter with a clear question in her eyes, but Peter was also at a complete loss as to why Neal reacted that way. Then he remembered the smell on alcohol on James' breath when he was arrested. God, the kid hated beer because of his father, and here Peter was, just about to drink one right in front of him.

"Sorry," Peter muttered as he quickly got up and put the beer back in the fridge. When he came back, Elizabeth was whispering something in Neal's ear, but it was too quiet for Peter to hear. Whatever she said seemed to calm him down at least.

Peter loved to enjoy a few beers after a long day at work, had even done so in front of Neal before now, but that might not be an option around Neal now that he'd been subjected to James' less-than-pleasant company again. Peter supposed it would be worth it if Neal felt comfortable around them again.

After that not-so-minor snafu, Neal practically inhaled his food, just like he had when Peter'd first seen him eat. With carefully casual suggestions from mostly Elizabeth, Neal had been getting better at slowing down and actually enjoying his food, but now it seemed that they regressed in that area as well. He almost seemed worried that it would be taken away from him at any moment, so he made himself eat as fast as he could so it couldn't be taken away. Hopefully when his food wasn't taken away from him, he'd realize that losing his food wasn't an issue anymore and he'd slow down again.

After Peter and Elizabeth had reassured Neal that they weren't going anywhere and the kid had fallen into a peaceful sleep on the hospital bed the night before, Elizabeth and Peter had discussed the topic of adopting Neal, and decided that sooner was better than later to bring it up to him. Peter didn't think that he would be able to hold in his feelings much longer anyway.

Glancing at Elizabeth, Peter was given a reassuring nod to begin the conversation. "Neal, Elizabeth and I need to talk to you," Peter said once they finished eating.

Neal tensed, almost like he thought that he was in trouble for something. The three of them went into the living room and sat on the couch, with Neal in the middle and Peter and Elizabeth bracketing him while still giving him some space. Neal was still tense and seemed unsure of what was going on, so Peter got right down to it.

Peter tried to choose his words carefully, but he really wasn't very good at this whole 'talking it out' thing. Getting hardened criminals to confess to crimes they had committed, he could do, putting together the seemingly unrelated pieces of a case that everyone else had given up on, no problem, sitting in a miserably hot van for hours on end for a stakeout, just another Wednesday, but talking to Neal about them adopting him seemed impossible.

Steeling himself, Peter took a deep breath before he started. "Before...everything that happened...me and El had been discussing the possibility that, uh, maybe you would, uh..." Peter trailed off awkwardly as he scratched his chin, then looked at Elizabeth helplessly, silently asking her to help him out.

"What Peter's trying to say is, we'd like you stay with us, permanently, if you're okay with that," Elizabeth, who truly was the stronger of the two of them, finished for Peter, making it look so easy. She had an expectant smile on her face as she waited for Neal to respond.

Neal opened his mouth, then closed it. His brow furrowed as his eyes darted from Peter to Elizabeth's face. "I...don't understand," he said slowly, apparently still unable to understand that they wanted him. James had really messed with the poor kid's head, and being with him again probably set his self-esteem and self-worth back even farther. Thinking of James once again angered Peter, but he bottled that up for when he went to the shooting range later.

Peter turned toward Neal more as he leaned forward and placed one of his elbows on his knee, gesturing with his hands a bit. "Neal, these last few months have been wonderful, barring a few rough patches. You have been a _huge_ help with the FBI, solving cases that no one else could..."

Over Neal's head, Elizabeth shot Peter a reproaching glance, so he moved away from the subject of Neal being good at helping him out at work - he could do that from a group home. What he needed to understand that they wanted him to be with them for more than that reason.

"You are a sweet, wonderful kid and neither of us would be able to see you go to a group home. Hell, I haven't even been calling around for a while now," Peter confessed, which made Elizabeth smile.

"You haven't? Why not?" Neal asked, still not getting it.

"Because, sweetie, we want you to have a nice place to stay. We just want to be happy," Elizabeth said lovingly in that voice that could melt even the coldest of hearts.

"Why? Wouldn't that be too much trouble for you guys?" Neal asked confusedly, so sure that he wasn't worth anyone's time or money, two things that he seemed to regard with such a high standard that made Peter wonder if they'd ever get him to see that not everyone wanted to use him to make a buck.

Peter wanted to sigh exasperatedly, he wanted to grab Neal and maybe shake some sense into him, but that'd only make things worse. They had to approach this carefully, which was _not_ something Peter was good at. Thankfully, Elizabeth took over again.

"Neal, you're worth _so_ much more than you realize. We love you and we hope that you'd like to stay with us until the end of your probation, at least. If you want to stay longer than that, you're more than welcome," Elizabeth said, being smart about it by giving Neal the option instead of forcing him into it.

"Y-you want me to stay?" Neal asked with clear uncertainty. Both Elizabeth and Peter nodded. "Would that be okay?"

"Of course it would - it'd be more than okay. We want you here, Neal," Elizabeth answered immediately.

Neal nodded slowly, seeming to process the information. "I guess I'll stay, then..." Staring at his lap, Neal smiled minutely, almost like he didn't want them to see his joy of being asked to stay with them. But they both saw the way his eyes shined a bit more brightly and how he truly relaxed for the first time since he'd walked back into the house, into _their_ _home_.

"There's one more thing..." Peter then said, which made Neal's small smile fall from his face and his posture stiffen again. "We were thinking that maybe, uh..." Elizabeth gave Peter a reassuring nod, giving him the courage to forge on. "We'd like to adopt you," Peter in a bit of a rush, stunning Neal into complete silence.

"Would you want that, Neal?" Elizabeth asked carefully when Neal didn't answer.

"You want to _adopt_ me?" Neal nearly whispered, his wide blue eyes wary and hopeful at the same time.

"It's been on both of our minds for a while now," Peter said, then got up and retrieved the adoption papers from the cabinet in the dining room, returning to his spot on the couch and handing Neal the papers for him to see. "We've both already signed it. All it needs is your signature."

A brilliant smile slowly spread across Neal's face as he gazed down at the papers in his lap. A tear fell down his cheek and hit the papers, splotching the ink and surprising all three of them. Neal wiped at his face as furtively as he could, not wanting them to see his tears.

"I'd love it if you adopted me," he whispered, so quietly that Peter wondered if he was afraid to say it any louder, as if he was scared that this dream would disappear if he made too much noise and disrupted the surreal turn of events.

Throwing cation to the wind, Peter placed a hand on Neal's shoulder, hoping that he didn't cross a line. Neal didn't even stiffen or pull away - he actually leaned into the touch, something that he'd only done in those few rare moments of intimacy and desire for comfort. Peter had always been careful not to touch Neal because of his tendency to flinch away from contact, but he didn't think that it was all that necessary anymore. Neal trusted them not to hurt him like James had, and he trusted them with his happiness and his heart, something that was so precious and would be nurtured properly now that he had Peter and Elizabeth to love him.

As Peter's eyes started to mist he wondered when he'd gotten so sappy and sentimental. It must have been the parental side of him that had emerged ever since he'd met Neal.

Elizabeth, wanting to show her love and support as well, put her hand on Neal's leg and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Neal accepted her affection wholeheartedly by placing his own hand over hers, a heartwarming smile lighting up his face. Somehow, Neal's smile widened even more as Satchmo trotted over to get his share of the love. All three of the couch dwellers gave the loyal lab the pets and scratches behind the ear that he deserved.

Seeing the pure joy on Neal's face as he was surrounded by people that truly cared for him, that was when Peter realized they had finally broken through the walls Neal had carefully built around himself, finally got Neal to figure out that he was loved and he deserved to be loved without needing to give anything in return. It was a very important step forward and made Peter's heart lighten from the weight of Neal's fears - and his own - that he'd been holding onto.

Peter knew that they still had a lot of work to go before Neal was truly confident that their intentions were pure, but they were making solid progress.

"I have one question," Neal said after a minute, breaking the comfortable silence. Neal was attempting to hide an impish smile that was trying to spread across his face, but Peter saw it and wondered what Neal was up to.

Peter made a noise of inquiry and Elizabeth tucked a stray hair behind Neal's ear as she asked, "What's that, sweetie?"

"Do either of you have a pen?"

 **The end**

 **Thank you all so much for reading! I can say without a doubt that your support was vital to the success of this story!**

 **I will now be focusing on my two other stories, 'What happens In Myanmar' and 'Dead Man Walking' and won't be posting a new story until one of those are finished. If you haven't read those, check them out!**

 **Until next time!**


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